


Whisper

by EvilOtter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2020-12-22 20:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21082511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilOtter/pseuds/EvilOtter
Summary: Someone is attacking former members of the Wizengamot, can they be stopped and can Harry regain something of his old self?





	1. One

The house that he knew so well, that he had spent the preceding fifty years of his life in, had never seemed do dark, so alien, to him. Never had he been so frightened in his own home, but now his heart was threatening to explode out of his chest with every beat that was meant to sustain his life. Not even the threat posed by the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort had frightened him as much as this did.

This time he was very certain that there would be no reprieve, no close escape, this time he was going to die!

He fervently wished that he had not dropped his wand in his attempt to escape his own bedroom. The rattle of it tumbling down the stairs, stairs that he did not dare use because of what waited at the bottom, had seemed like the wild staccato of Death approaching on swift wings to claim him.

Not even managing to escape the building offered much hope to him. Apparation might save him, but only for a short time until he was found again. That was the damnable lot of it all for he was being pursued by a ruthless killer who would have no trouble in locating him, no matter where he went or how well he hid He had known that he was as good as dead from the moment that his home had been invaded.

It had only been by providence that he had awakened in time to prevent being a victim that was found in his bed. More than a few other witches and wizards had been found in this state and a hunt was being conducted by the Ministry of Magic and the Aurors to catch the culprit or culprits before more magical blood was spilled.

_‘The Aurors,’_ he thought with derision. _‘They are naught but lapdogs for the rich and powerful in our world. Not even the renowned Harry Potter is much more than a puppet who’s strings are held taut by the Minister and his every move controlled by an egotistical despot and fool They had much more honor when I served them all of those years.’_

He was brought out of thought by the appearance of an unfamiliar shadow in the corridor. Terrified, he turned and raced away from this menace only to slam into the railing and nearly hurl himself over this barrier. The three story tumble, as well as assorted likely impacts with other objects on the way down promised almost certain death. A person thinking more clearly might have found this end quick and preferable to the one that he faced otherwise.

He was nearly down this hall when he remembered the cupboard. The cupboard and what lay within it might actually save him if he could get there before fate caught up with him.

As he tried to slip from shadow to shadow to get to the cupboard and salvation he became uncomfortably aware that the darkness that he was using for concealment might also hide his killer. They relied on darkness to gain access to their victim and now he might actually have played right into their blood stained hands. A terrifying chill ran through him as he understood what he might have inadvertently done.

_‘What in the name of Merlin was I thinking?’_

He was about to leave the shadows in which he was hiding when he realized that by stepping out of them he would reveal himself. There was no way around it, either way that he chose held the potential for disaster. He could die no matter what decision he made and this was not a pleasant prospect.

Taking in a deep breath, which seemed to him to be as loud as a clap of thunder, he left the shadows and hurried towards his objective. He faltered for a moment as he heard a whisper of a sound to his left but did not bother to look in that direction.

What he might see if he looked that way frightened him.

Nothing appeared to molest him or hinder his progress and he knew that only a few meters lay between him and the wooden barrier. If he could get there, open the door and then find what he was looking for he had at least a chance of surviving this night.

The wand, his father’s wand, lay safely cushioned inside the box that it had been in when it had been purchased from Ollivander’s so many years ago. While he would have preferred his own hemlock wand, his father’s walnut wand would do. He grimaced as he thought about the unpleasant response that the wand would give him for merely holding it. It would be even worse when he attempted to wield it. He could still see the scar in the palm of his hand that the wand had left some thirty years before when he had tried to use it.

The memory of the searing sensation was as indelibly seared into his mind as the physical reminder was present in his flesh.

The doorknob was finally in his hand and he jerked the door open to enter the space when he recoiled suddenly. The dark, draped form that waited within the cupboard advanced as he whirled to flee.

His heart raced faster as he saw a second figure moving to intercept him and the tinge of cold fear raced through him. Clearly they were herding him towards an area where there was no escape from. Once he was there they would, once he was outnumbered and cornered, have their way with him.

_‘The stairs, the servant’s stairs, I have to get to them!’_

He pelted towards this one possibility of safety. The stairs, meant for the use of servants of a Muggle nature centuries before, had not been used in a very long time.

They were steep and winding and treacherous in the daytime, but to try to negotiate them in the darkness was madness or desperation or both. If one fell down them serious injury or death was likely as both had happened to unfortunates in the past. But considering what pursued him he felt that the risk was warranted.

As he ran, as fast as his aged legs could manage, he imagined that he felt the fetid breath of one of his antagonists on the back of his neck and did not dare to look behind him. A small table that stood along the wall was sent flying into the path of his enemies and he did not wait to hear any reaction from them. Only the crash of the table against the floor and the sound of glass shattering reached his ears as a vase which had been in his family for centuries met its end.

The stairs that he sought were close and he could only hope that the way was not blocked by one of them. Chills of terror flooded through him as he hurried through the darkness.

_‘Perhaps,’_ he thought,_ ‘if I can get down the stairs safely I can get to my wand at the bottom of the main stairs.’_

The railing at the top of the stairs appeared before him and he hurried to go around this barrier to begin his descent. He did not bother to look behind him because he knew what was there, because he was more concerned about what waited at the bottom and what he might find there. There was a door that was likely swollen with dampness, age and disuse. If it foiled his attempts to open it then all hope had fled him.

Almost halfway down the stairs he slipped and then began the dreaded head over heels tumble downward. Each step, each hard contact with the walls hurt more than the one before it and he had time to wonder if, when he reached the door, he would even be of use to those who pursued him.

He hoped not, for those who were after him had terrible ways of getting what they wanted.

A loud sound of impact occurred as he hit the door and actually burst THROUGH it. Somehow he managed to come to his feet and senses in time to flee the figures that were coming through the door as well. He grimaced as he cradled his obviously broken arm, the arm that he normally wielded his wand with.

Still, he hoped, he would be able to reach the wand that he had dropped earlier and somewhat even the odds against him. They were toying with him; he knew that for a fact, because they had passed up several chances to finish him. It had become a cat and mouse game with him playing the part of an unfortunate rodent. As grateful as he was for this fact, the fact that he still lived, he knew that sooner or later they would tire of this amusement and put a terrible end to him.

As he passed it he reached out to topple a large, freestanding bookshelf. It crashed to the floor with tremendous noise and he held out a feeble hope that he had at least stopped one of them. It was not likely but at least he had this to cheer him.

He rounded the corner and came into the main hall where the foot of the main staircase was. Now, if he could only find his wand. There had been no time to visually track it as it fell and the fact that it was extremely dark in the house had not helped.

As he entered the foyer his heart nearly came to a stop. This was both from excitement and fear at what he saw.

His wand lay delicately balanced on the newel post at the bottom of the bannister. He knew that it had not landed there by chance. It had been deliberately placed there.

A low laughter brought chills to his spine and then the voice finished the job of ending his hopes.

“It is right there, Jonas! You want your wand, don’t you? I mean, you have taken my associates on a wild game of hide and seek around your home so do you not want to play some more?”

It_ was_ there, right there in front of him and within easy reach if he took only a few more steps, but could he use it in time to defeat his adversaries and save his life.

“Well, Jonas, we are all waiting! Go ahead, Jonas, go ahead, leap forward, take your wand and try to carry out the plan that I know must be forming in your mind. Go ahead we will not try to stop you!”

The tone in the voice mocked him and also set his hair on end. There was no way to get the wand into his hand and survive the night. He might get the wand into his grasp but they would all surge forward at once. There was no a shadow of a doubt that he might get at least one of them but he could not defeat all of them.

An insane plan, insane for it meant his own death as well, entered his mind and he wondered if the owner of the taunting voice had considered what he was thinking. Surely he could have it in his possession long enough to do as he planned because he had no other course of action available. He was encircled by them and they waited only for the command of their leader to attack. Perhaps, if he was successful, he could destroy this evil and rid the Wizarding World of it once and for all.

“Come now, Jonas, please do not keep them waiting. They are such useful and patient servants but that patience lasts only so long. I am afraid that sooner or later they will decide to ignore what I have instructed them to do and do what they wish to do. We would not want that, now would we?”

This final plea, thick with sarcasm, was all that he needed. He, like the others, many of who had been his lifelong friends, had been targeted for this and he knew why. The person who was speaking to him, would never forget or forgive the long, lonely years spent in a cell in Azkaban Prison.

Wishing his remaining friends a silent goodbye, he leapt forward for the wand. His good hand closed around the wood and, as he pulled it to his chest to carry out his plan two things happened.

The first was that his pursuers rushed forward to seize him in their deadly grasps. The other thing was the he realized that he did not hold his wand. The thin piece of wood that he held so tightly was not a wand at all. It was merely a piece of wooded trim torn from somewhere in his home and then left there to deceive him.

As the screams echoed through his home a hand held up his true wand before his pain filled eyes so that he could see it. Helpless to act he could only watch as that hand’s mate grasped the other end of the wand and then the wand was snapped in half before being tucked into a pocket.

“Take all of the time that you want with him!”

The POP of disapparation sounded in the foyer.

The remainder of his life, only minutes actually, dragged on like hours and the faint spark of his consciousness that he still possessed managed to feel the tear that departed his left eye to make its way down his cheek.

When his attackers left his home the only sound that remained at all was the slow ticking of the large clock in his library. The time that it kept, like all time, gave this mortal passing not thought at all.

It had other lives to measure.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry looks back at what once was, what he has lost and what he hopes is a chance at redemption.

The headache was there again and he removed his glasses to place them onto the surface of his desk before rubbing his temples to try to relieve some of the pain. He could have called down for some potion to deal with it, but that would take time and he did not have that to waste. Today, like the myriad of those before it and the seemingly endless ones ahead of it, had been incredibly long.

He glanced again at the blurry pile of reports that he was wading through and groaned audibly as an elf appeared to leave more for him to look at.

_‘And I thought that taking the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s were bad, but this is monstrous.’_

Wearily he reached out to pick up a file marked PRIORITY and then, after putting his glasses back on, opened it. His eyes widened as the picture that the file contained nearly leaped out at him and he read the name next to the leering face.

An avalanche of feelings struck him at that moment, among them fear and hatred. He slammed the folder shut again and then shoved it aside angrily.

_‘I had hoped to never see your face or read your name again!’_

Harry Potter leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He had been putting in far too many hours of late and this had produced more than a few painful side effects.

There had been more than a few terrible rows between Ginny and himself about his frequent absences. His wife had hinted that she suspected that he was seeing another witch on the side, which was not the case. Even so, it had erupted into fight after fight and the strain was beginning to affect their children, especially Lily.

She was the youngest of the three and still at home, well almost. The girl was in her third year at Hogwarts and struggling. Before all the chaos at home her marks had been almost stellar, but fears within the child had started to affect her studies.

Her brothers, James and Albus, had turned almost a blind eye to the plight of their sister. Harry disliked the indifference that his sons had displayed to their sibling but could do little about it.

Lily had been the only girl in the family, just as her mother had been in her younger years. Unlike Ginny, however, Lily had been almost hated by her brothers, who found any excuse that they could to torment her. Nothing said to the boys had produced much effect and both had displayed a “punishment be damned” attitude when threatened with discipline by he or his wife.

Much to Lily’s relief James, the eldest of the two boys, moved out of the family home shortly after leaving Hogwarts. The boy had not actually finished at Hogwarts, but he was finished at the school. He had become handier with his fists than he was with his wand and finally had been expelled after a fight had left a Slytherin Prefect with a split lip and a severe concussion. The fight, in addition to all of the others that the boy had been involved in, was enough to push him out of the school for good.

He left in disgrace, wandless and no longer welcome in a great number of establishments in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. To make matters worse, this had reflected on the rest of the family and, in the perception of some of the magical families, the Potter name was now no better than that of the Malfoy clan. Somehow, someway, the main hero of the Battle at Hogwarts had become the leader of a family of near outcasts.

Those who knew the family best had not helped much when a great number of them distanced themselves from the clan. Although Ron and Hermione still considered Harry and Ginny family they took great pains to appear aloof.

It helped the standing that they held in the Wizarding World.

Harry and Ginny’s younger son, Albus, had managed to avoid the notoriety that had befallen his brother. He tried to avoid problems and keep his mind on his schoolwork. Albus was, for the most part, successful in this matter, but not necessarily good at getting passable marks.

He was a personable lad who tried his best but did not really have the aptitude for magic that his parents had possessed. Many of his attempts met with near disaster and it was soon obvious that he was only slightly better academically that the latest generations of Crabbes and Goyles to attend the ancient school.

Still, he was determined enough that many of the professors at Hogwarts had taken the time to do all that they could to help him. Albus was more than grateful for this and did his best to repay their kindness with marked improvement. While his marks did improve with significance there was no doubt that he would never be able to follow his father’s chosen career.

_‘Lucky boy,’_ Harry thought as he considered his second born.

And then there was Lily.

His youngest child and only daughter, the girl was near the bottom of her class and a disappointment to her House. They had hoped at Gryffindor that she would prove to be an asset as her parents, aunt and uncles had been. Instead she had become a bit of a liability.

For a while she had seemed to be everything that her brothers could not be. The girl was eager enough to succeed and had, unlike her brothers, a good head on her shoulders.

Lily Luna Potter had proven to be a whiz at Transfigurations and an apparent natural at Potions and there her shining star had dimmed.

She simply could not get the hang of Charms and was only mediocre at Defense against the Dark Arts.

An accidental flip of her wand in Charms class had nearly, and would have if the other students had not ducked, annihilated her group during an exam. Professor Flitwick had become Professor Flutter on another occasion when she had accidently turned him into a feathered wonder. It had taken intervention from the headmaster to prevent him from having to eat birdseed for the remainder of his life.

Lily was only passable on her broom, which was more than a bit of a disappointment for her mother. The girl had managed to single handedly destroy three of the school’s practice brooms and had manage to avoid serious injury to herself only by pure luck.

At least she, like Albus, had managed to avoid trouble that would have removed her from school. It was apparent that, if she could regain her balance, the child would make an acceptable finish at Hogwarts but little more than that. She would never sit in the Ministry of Magic.

Harry’s attentions turned to Ginny. Ginny Weasley, she had first met his sight at King’s Cross as he pondered how to get to Platform Nine and three-quarters. She and her mother had given him the encouragement that he needed to run all out at a seemingly solid brick column. Her quiet “Good Luck”, while well meant, had not done much to sooth his nerves and it was only when he actually stood whole and unharmed that he felt better about things.

It had become apparent that she had feelings for him as he stood in Flourish and Blott’s at the start of his second year. She had stood her ground and, blue eyes blazing, had told Malfoy to leave him alone.

The rest was history.

After they were wed, however, they seemed to take courses that would keep them apart. Somehow three children had resulted and it had been obvious that it was pure luck during the brief times when he was not on assignment and she not away playing Quidditch that their sons and daughter had even been conceived.

One would have thought that, given the fact that they were the parents of three children as well as having been one of THE couples at Hogwarts that they would have lived a splendid life but this was not the case.

They were wed shortly after she finished at Hogwarts and the ceremony had produced much fanfare on the front cover of the Daily Prophet. From around the Wizarding world came thousands, if not tens of thousands of congratulatory owls. The entire of the Ministry of Magic had been in attendance as well as all of Hogwarts, including many who had not set foot in the ancient castle in years. The ancient structure, for there was no more appropriate a setting, seemed to bulge and security had been tight.

It had also been a nightmare.

Not all of Lord Voldemort’s followers had been captured after the battle and a few decided to make a show at the festivities.

The small scale war that erupted in the Great Hall was reminiscent of the one that had taken place during Tom Riddle’s siege of the castle. Thankfully, loss of life had been minimal and many of the scoundrels were taken into custody.

The unfortunate part was that the gala had been brought to an end and many left the scene wishing that they had never agreed to attend.

What should have been a happy couple leaving the castle to start their lives together was, in fact, a very miffed bride and an equally upset groom. It never would have happened, she contended, if more care had been exercised in hunting down the last of the followers of the Dark Lord.

Harry’s response had been less than understanding.

How was he to be held responsible for it all when he had not even been an Auror at the time?

Although they managed to mend their early differences, more soon materialized then it became apparent that Ginny had no intention of being a stay at home wife,

“Why should I be?” she had asked, “I am a witch and never need to lift a finger to make certain that my home is spotless! A wand, yes, but lift a finger? Not on your life!”

She was soon playing Quidditch semi-professionally only to find her career cut short by the pregnancy which resulted in the birth of their first child, James.

Returning to Quidditch proved to be somewhat complicated. Caring for a child and dodging Bludgers, sometimes it felt like at the same time, kept her tired and she felt somewhat relieved when James reached a year old and no longer needed her constant attention. Her mother was more than willing to watch after her grandchild and Harry did not object. At least with Molly and Arthur Weasley caring for the tyke he did not have to be concerned about the child’s needs being met.

Things had no sooner settled down to tolerable when Ginny, her irritation plain to see, announced that she was again pregnant. This time the pregnancy was fraught with difficulty and the ambitious, and impatient, mother to be was forced to miss the majority of a Quidditch season that might have seen her move on to a professional team.

Angst was thick in the Potter home when Albus arrived. Although he was dearly loved by both parents the adults could not say the same for each other.

Harry began to volunteer for every assignment that would take him away from his wife’s anger. Everyone hoped that the couple would come together and be a bit more like Ron and Hermione, who had welcomed their first child, a daughter named Rose, only weeks after Albus’ debut.

The appearance of their niece did manage to bring the couple back towards each other and Harry managed to finally gain a sought after promotion that would allow him to be home more.

Finally, it seemed, they had found their own and the small boys began to thrive in a home that was not the scene of frequent arguments.

Ginny was overjoyed when she managed to win a coveted place on a professional team only to have that joy dampened by another life changing event.

Lily Luna arrived into their lives only months after her cousin Hugo had arrived. While this latest infant did somewhat hinder her career in Quidditch, Ginny fell into caring for her daughter with zeal and, with Harry home more, the family home became a happy place at last.

His mind free of the constant stress that he had been enduring at home, Harry began a meteoric climb up through the ranks by making arrest after high profile arrest of dark witches and wizards. It seemed that the “Boy Who Lived” had now become the “Man Who Would.” It was apparent to any who bothered to pay attention that he might someday lead the Aurors and indeed it seemed as though he would.

And then, overnight it appeared, the house of cards that Harry and Ginny had created fell apart.

Harry and a select group of Aurors went on a mission which would keep them away for a great amount of time. A coven of the remaining followers of Voldemort had been uncovered and need to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

The Death Eaters had all intent of crowning a new leader and had succeeded in reuniting a large number of their fellow associates. Alone they were nothing, but the army that they had mustered had every possibility of creating a great deal of trouble.

Fear ran through the citizenry of the Wizarding World as attacks began and then grew in number and ferocity. Once again the name Voldemort was not spoken for this new leader of the Dark forces had chosen to call himself by this name. It seemed to all that He Who Shall Not Be Named had indeed risen again and this time did not intend to be defeated.

Disappearances and horrible deaths began to occur and some began to believe that perhaps Tom Riddle had not been defeated and killed after all. Perhaps he had lived to escape and the great Harry Potter had lied about his victory. Many respected witches and wizards had come forward to attest to the fact that they had seen the body of Voldemort after the battle, but skepticism rose as fear grew.

The unthinkable happened one night as the team of Aurors led by Harry was ambushed as they investigated a tip. Casualties were many as the Aurors found themselves outnumbered and trapped by their opponents. Only last minute apparition saved three of the team, Harry among them, and then it seemed to Harry that it would have been merciful and better had he died.

One of the other survivors accused him of leading them blindly into the trap. The wizard actually said that it had appeared to him that those that they faced had been deliberately missing Potter, allowing him to escape unharmed while others died.

The reaction was swift as the Ministry of Magic, bowing to pressure from the citizens, began an investigation into Harry’s involvement. Within days a respected Auror had been reduced to an office clerk with no chance of ever being promoted again. He would at least be in London, but his dreams of leading were sundered forever.

Of course, Ginny was incensed by all of this for it meant that Harry was no longer highly paid and that much of the burden was now on her shoulders. He could stay at his desk and file parchments, but she had made the pros and was on a climb to stardom. Now it seemed that he was forever going to be overshadowed by his spouse and had become the “Man Who Could Not.”

The derision that he often faced from Aurors that he had once lead but now was subordinate to weighed on him and led to other issues.

Harry began to avoid going home. He would stay, alone, in flats that he had rented while he tried to figure out how to regain what he had lost.

Ginny, of course, assumed that he was having an affair and went out of her way to confront every witch that she thought might be the one, including Hermione.

This naturally brought a response that turned the Weasley household into a war zone and Hermione, who was aghast that her sister-in-law and friend could say such things, responded with accusations and low blows of her own.

_“Perhaps he would not be looking for comfort elsewhere if his wife were not such a shrew!”_

The duel that followed this left a great deal of the countryside charred and the Muggle populace running for their lives to escape the “hellish and totally unprecedented” lightning storm and winds that battered where they lived. Thankfully, there were no deaths or serious injuries but the damage had still been done.

The witches vowed to never speak to each other again.

Harry, who was alerted as all Aurors and other members of the department were, rushed to the scene to find his wife in a state of rage. It was at this moment that he was issued an ultimatum.

He was to stay at home at night or never return.

For the sake of his children Harry accepted the demands and dutifully arrived home after the end of every working day. This had the effect of satisfying his wife and her ire abated as the children grew and then began to leave to go to Hogwarts.

Ginny might have been pleased, but Harry was bored out of his mind. Every day was the same thing, go to work, toil through paper work for eight hours and then return home to do it all again the next day. Now he understood what he had heard Muggle complain about when they talked about their jobs.

“Another day in the salt mines,” he had heard one say although he had not a clue as to what it meant. Whatever it was, however, it did not sound good.

Another elf appeared with a folder in his hand and Harry accepted it. The small creature vanished as Harry glanced at the name at the top of this folder and blanched.

Another wizard had been found in a terrible state in his home, a wizard that he was very familiar with. The man had once been a member of the Wizengamot and had helped to send a great number of less than savory witches and wizards to Azkaban.

Now his name was before the Aurors again, even though he thought that the organization had outlived its usefulness. This time he was a victim and investigation was warranted, an investigation that had been dropped in Harry’s lap.

A surge of both excitement and dismay rushed through him. The Aurors were going to give him a chance at redemption but would Ginny do the same? Would she allow him the space that he needed to be an effective Auror again?

They had, at times, made conciliatory gestures towards each other’s careers and now, with the children all away, perhaps he could pick up where he had left off and begin to climb the ranks once again.

He opened the file again and wondered what had happened to the wizard. The description was ghastly and Harry had a deep feeling that the truth would be the same way.

Rising from behind his desk Harry Potter, like Fawkes the Phoenix, began a rebirth of sorts.

All that he could hope for was that the rebirth did not lead to an early death or another war at home.

The POP in his office announced his departure while the file marked PRIORITY shifted enough to reveal more words.

**EXTREMELY DANGEROUS**


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of the past haunt Harry as he delves deeper into the mystery of the attacks.

He lay quietly in the bed in St. Mungo’s, his eyes fixed on a point that no one was convinced that he could even see. A line of drool leaked from his gaping mouth past cracked lips and teeth that were horribly out of place or shattered. None of this would have been uncommon in an individual of either very advanced age or after a lengthy and serious illness but this was not a normal case.

The patient was but eighty three years old and, according to his healer, had been at the pinnacle of good health only days before.

Now a healer was examining this wizard who had been extremely formidable only a week before. He turned from the man to look at the team that had summoned him from his home in Wales.

“When did they bring him in here?”

“Two days ago, he was like this when they found him still in his bed in his home. The poor soul was still clad in his night clothes when they arrived to help him.”

“Have you any leads?”

“Not as yet, he has not moved or spoken that we know of and his gaze has been fixed like that as well. I am not even certain that he has blinked in all of this time.”

“I am of the belief that this is more a curse than a magical malady. Did they find his wand on the scene?”

“A wand was found, but it revealed nothing. Only mild and nonthreatening uses were recorded, most of them to help him sleep. But certainly nothing that would, or could, result in this.”

The visiting healer looked back down at the patient before straightening and asking another question.

“Are the other victims like this as well?”

“They are in an identical state. None of them have even moved since they were brought in. One has been here for two weeks and has shown no signs of improvement.”

“Did the Aurors find any sign of foul play?”

“No,” the other healer replied in a terse answer.

“Do these patients show any sort of common thread other than their condition?”

“They were all once part of the Wizengamot.”

The assembly of healers turned to the door of the room and the source of the voice that had answered the posed question. A tall, sandy haired man stood there as he surveyed the patient from a distance. He sadly shook his head and then returned his attention to the healers.

“May I ask who you are, sir?” the healer in charge queried.

“William MacLaurie, Department of the Aurors. My team has arrived to look into these happenings. We respectfully request full access to all records pertaining to this business,” the visitor answered as he produced a parchment which bore the crest of the Ministry of Magic and his department.

“Certainly,” the healer in charge answered after he had examined the parchment, “I shall have them in the room that we have set aside for your use.”

“Good, one of my men shall start going over the notes to compare them with the records from the scenes.”

“I shall see to it immediately. Did you say that all of them had once been a part of the Wizengamot?”

“I did. We are looking into the whereabouts of anyone who might have been brought before that assembly during the tenure of these victims. The list is certain to be quite long and this investigation will take some time.”

While this was going on Harry stepped into the room to see only a table and chair setting in the middle it. Immediately he had a sinking feeling that he knew why he was here. This was no promotion or redemption, his services here would likely be confined to going over records to look for similarities.

Any hope that he had possessed for a reprieve was gone instantly.

Suddenly several free standing bulletin boards appeared and the table was filled with files, no doubt about the attacks. He was to sort through parchments again.

While magic might help him keep things neat and assist him in arranging things on the boards, it could not read for him. Sighing deeply, he sat down on the chair and opened the first file.

“Bertha Langston,” he murmured as he read the name. He remembered the witch from the time that she had sat in judgement of him after he had used the Patronus against Dementors that were attacking Dudley and himself. She had been one of the most intent on sending him to Azkaban. Now she was here, at St. Mungo’s, in a deplorable state and with very little, if any, chance of recovery.

He read quietly and tried to avoid looking at the pictures of the patient. They were all quite odd as well as disturbing. In each of them the witch in the bed lay as still as if she was a statue carved out of stone while the healers moved around her. Not even her eyes moved, not a blink, only pupils that were fixed and large. It seemed that if he looked close enough that he could see through them and into the skull behind them.

A flick his wand sent the pictures to the board marked with her name. Harry was grateful that the board was behind him, he did not have to look into those empty, haunting eyes. He did, however, experience a rather disconcerting chill that ran down his spine at the thought of those eyes glaring at his back. The Auror shuddered at the thought and then went back to reading.

MacLaurie was not enjoying his day at all. Already it was very apparent that the patients were going to be no help at all. Only the files that he had Potter going through offered any hope of revealing information.

He snickered at the thought of the famous Harry Potter being reduced to what the Muggles would call a secretary. Not long ago Potter had outranked him and was giving him orders and now the shoe was on the other foot.

The wizard smiled as he thought about that Muggle saying. They really were quite colorful with their sayings, even if they did not make much sense. What in the name of Merlin did shoes changing feel have anything to do with this?

As he thought about what was going on he worried a bit. His own father had been a part of the Wizengamot after the death of his grandfather. MacLaurie knew that he as what the Muggles would call a late in life baby and he assumed that it was because his parents had been older when he was born.

Now his parents, both elderly, lived near Dublin in a small village. Health concerns had led his father to leave the Wizengamot but he had been a part of several important cases. Hopefully this ordeal would not spread beyond London and his parents would have nothing to be concerned about.

Several Aurors were busy with their own assignments, the most important of which was checking on the well-being of other former members of the Wizarding World’s equivalent of a supreme court. He, like the others in the investigation, hoped that the last of the patients suffering from this strange malady had arrived at the hospital.

As far as he knew, the healers were at a loss as to what was going on. It did not appear to be the work of any curse or known poison which made the situation more worrisome.

Had some dark witch or wizard stumbled upon some obscure but highly frightening weapon? MacLaurie knew that there were ancient tomes in existence that could hold no longer known, much less practiced, dark magic with the potential to do this.

Therein lay the issue; if the magic which caused this was obscure might not the counter to it be little known as well?

“Mister MacLaurie?”

A voice almost shouted as it broke unexpectedly into his thoughts. He turned to see Andrew McBride, a high ranking member of the team, waiting to be responded to.

“Do you have something, Mister McBride?”

“Only a bit of bad news, Mister MacLaurie,” his subordinate replied.

Chills ran down MacLaurie’s spine at these words and he looked chillingly into the eyes of the other wizard.

“What bad news, McBride?”

“A number of formers members of the Wizengamot cannot be accounted for. No doubt some are travelling or otherwise indisposed but we are concerned that some may have met a sinister fate.”

“Have their homes been searched? Have any of the teams been dispatched to check on them?”

“We have teams of Aurors doing that right now.”

“You seem to want to say something more, McBride. What is it that you have not said?”

“We need more teams, Mister MacLaurie. Our teams are out there, investigating leads and checking on the missing, but we need more Aurors.”

“There are not any more available, McBride, we have pulled everyone that we could find. We stripped Aurors from other assignments and event took advanced trainees. They have gone as far as scraping the bottom of the barrel to collect Aurors facing discipline to deal with this. Even retired Aurors have been recalled to help out. I do not have one Auror more to spare.”

“What about…?”

“What about who, Mc Bride?” MacLaurie snapped as he began to realize what was going on and the identity of the one that they had not discussed. Surely this decorated and highly respected Auror was not suggesting the unthinkable.

“What about him, Mister MacLaurie?”

“I would sooner drag the dregs of our department out of whatever sewer that they have crawled into than allow HIM back into the field.”

“But he defeated…”

“Oh, yes, I know, he defeated Voldemort at the Battle at Hogwarts. That story has been thrown about our world for decades but there is precious little proof of it.”

“But the witnesses…”

“Witnesses can be mistaken, they do not always turn out to have seen what they thought that they had. Witnesses can be coaxed or bought to say what someone wants them to say. He has never proven one iota of what he claims and, until he does, he will remain where he is.”

“But he is Harry Potter, our people know his name. That would be invaluable to us. The hesitant, wherever they might be, may come forward to tell us what they know.”

“Or what HE wants us to hear,” MacLaurie countered. “No, he shall remain where he is and that much is final.”

The conversation, even though carried out in whispers, drew attention because of the volume of venom displayed. MacLaurie was under incredible pressure to get to the bottom of things and quickly. The wizard knew very well that failure to do so might result in his removal from the assignment. He might end up in the same situation that Potter had and he could not bear the thought of that.

“McBride,” he snapped, “you need to stop the complaining and get on with your duties before I decide to replace you.”

Andrew McBride stiffened; his eyes angry and nostrils flared, as he considered what to say next. Nothing that he considered seemed to carry the potential that he desired. Finally he turned and strode out of the room. It was far better to leave now and avoid likely defeat, to fight another day and then be victorious.

_‘Regardless of what you say, MacLaurie, Harry Potter may be our best option at this point. You may have overthought yourself by keeping him confined in that office. He is no fool and may come upon something that you missed. He has been given the time and opportunity to look into things and may know far more that you are willing to give him credit for.’_

McBride smiled at this thought and then vanished with a POP. There were things to be done and the last thing that he needed was to have his superior believe that he had been procrastinating.

Harry, unaware of any of this, looked at the latest file to appear. Another former member of the Wizengamot had gone missing, not having been seen in many days. This had the Office of the Aurors concerned because the wizard in question had not only been seated in the Wizengamot but was a former Auror as well. Certainly, if he had fallen prey to whatever was going on the populace in general would be easy prey.

As he looked at the picture of the wizard in question, Harry realized that their paths had crossed at least twice. One of those times had been on the day that he had become Ginny’s husband. The other time had not been so joyous. It had been when he himself had sat before the Wizengamot awaiting judgement. The wizard, like Bertha Langston, had wanted him convicted of the illegal use of magic while underage and in the presence of Dudley.

The day that the incident had occurred was still solidly welded within his mind. He had been alone in a park during incredible heat when he had been accosted by Dudley and his chums. An argument had occurred and much to the amusement of Dudley’s friends, but not Dudley himself, Harry had ended up with his wand drawn and jammed against the throat of the larger boy. What had happened next had been more than a bit frightening.

A storm had made an abrupt appearance, much to the relief of a parched area around them, and had prompted all to make a hasty retreat. Harry and Dudley had ended up in a tunnel to escape the rain only to encounter something much worse.

The first inclination of real trouble had been an alarming drop in the temperature. Although it had been midsummer both boys could suddenly see their breaths in the same way that they would during a chilly winter morning. Then things got even more frightening, because it was then that he had seen them.

As the Dementors appeared he had urged Dudley to run. Although the Muggle boy could not see the danger he needed no further encouragement to flee, he wasn’t as brave as he let on to his chums. Young Dursley might have gotten farther away but he slipped on rain water that was now frozen into a sheet of glass and slid directly into the clutches of the Dementors.

Harry had known what was going to happen to the young man but had problems of his own. The Dementor that had Dudley in its grasp was not alone and Harry had been forced to fight to reach his wand before he became a victim.

Somehow, the wand was suddenly in his grasp and he was able to strike back. The Patronus managed to free him from a fate worse than death. A second blast from his wand freed Dudley from the peril that he faced and Harry managed to help the larger boy home, only to face the wrath of Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

At almost the same time the official notice from the Ministry of Magic arrived to tell him that he, an underage wizard, had been expelled for using magic in the presence of a Muggle.

It was only luck that enabled Dumbledore was able to save him. The headmaster, foreseeing what some within the Wizengamot had intended, arrived in more than enough time to save Harry from a trip directly to the wizarding prison, Azkaban.

Quite obviously this had disappointed many within the assembly but not near as much as the fact that there was a witness to speak for the boy. Had not Mrs. Figg, a witch of dubious ability, appeared at the scene of the attack and then had been present to testify on Harry’s behalf he would have no doubt definitely been expelled and imprisoned.

In the end, Harry managed to escape the fate that had been intended for him. But the reason for this attack which had occurred in a Muggle occupied area had not been explained and neither had the identity of the witch or wizard who ordered it revealed.  
He left the trial confused by two things, who hated him enough to order what had happened and why had Dumbledore been so distant?

That term at Hogwarts had been almost intolerable. The posting of Delores Umbridge has professor of Defense against the Dark Arts, and the acting Headmistress upon the disappearance of Dumbledore, had put many students in a great deal of distress, as well as a bit of danger.

It had all ended well, Umbridge and her nearly dictatorial regime had been deposed, Dumbledore had been restored to his post and the students could be themselves again.

But a stain had remained.

After all of this had happened something was different at Hogwarts for nearly everyone. Many students had felt uneasy about returning and the threat of Voldemort had once again settled over the ancient castle as well as the rest of the Wizarding World.

Many lost their lives or freedom as the followers of the Dark Lord rose to power, even overtaking the Ministry of Magic. Old enemies had reentered his life, and even his destiny, as he sought to defeat Voldemort. Old enemies, indeed, and none more distasteful as Delores Umbridge.

After the death of Dumbledore at the hands, and wand, of Severus Snape darkness had fallen on Hogwarts. He, Hermione and Ron had left the school at the end of that term to set out in search of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.

He had destroyed one of those Horcruxes, Tom Riddle’s diary, during his second term at Hogwarts as he fought to save Ginny Weasley’s life. In the end he had saved the girl and done something unexpected, he had destroyed one of the hidden pieces of Riddle’s fractured soul.

His hunt had brought him into contact with one Mundungus Fletcher, a filthy wizard who was what the Muggles would have called a sneak thief. The man had stolen a locket from Grimauld Place which had turned out to be a Horcrux. Then the locket had changed hands once again, going around the neck of a very familiar and disliked Umbridge.

He and his two friends had been forced to enter the Ministry of Magic to retrieve it, and retrieve it they had done. But the mission had nearly cost them Ron. He had been saved and, in the end, the locket had been destroyed.

They, the forces opposed to the darkness, had prevailed in the end but at the cost of many lives. Their world had been rebuilt and those who had wished harm to others sent to Azkaban in many cases.

Harry had tried to put it all in the past but had not always been successful in his efforts. The faint scars that he still bore, those in his mind as well as on the back of his hand, were ever present reminders of those long ago days.  
Now some of the fear that they had felt so long ago seemed to have returned to settle on them once again. Voldemort was dead, along with many of his followers, but someone had returned to pick up where they had left off.

He shook his head to clear it. Those thoughts had no place here. There was a job to be done and he needed to see to it. The file before him held no promise of an easy remedy to the problem. It merely informed him of the illustrious past of the witch who now lay in a bed at St. Mungo’s. The ward that she occupied has several other occupants, with each displaying the same symptoms and having a similar past.

Whatever magic was a work here was terrifying.

Harry laid the file aside to pick up another. After leaving the Wizengamot Langston had travelled extensively in their world as well as that of the Muggles. Even this, however, brought no solutions. The witch had been very nearly a recluse in the months prior to this occurrence. She had only very rarely been seen outside her home. Delivery owls had been seen dropping off her purchases and then one day she had stopped sending and receiving owls. The small house that she resided in had grown dark and shown little evidence of life.

Finally, concerned neighbors and friends entered the house to find her in the state that she was in. The normally very neatly kept home was in shambles and the witch had been found in a chair in her sitting room, her wand within easy reach but unused. She had been found just in time to preserve what remained of her life.

Harry laid this file aside and glanced briefly through the next. It was the report of the healers on the condition of their patient. It was eerily similar to the reports on the other witches and wizards that were in neighboring rooms. Rooms that they never left under their own power or will.

He rose to examine the boards for each patient. They all said the same thing. The patients all displayed a deep coma like state with no apparent cause.

A house-elf appeared suddenly and Harry turned to the tiny creature where he briefly saw Dobby.

Dobby.

The house-elf had helped him at great potential cost to himself if Lucius Malfoy had ever learned what he had done. Without the elf and his assistance, Malfoy would have gotten away with what he had done and Ginny would be dead. Harry smiled as he remembered tricking Malfoy into freeing the elf, who had defended the boy when the angered wizard had intended to harm him.

It had not been the last time that Dobby had helped Harry as they sought to defeat Tom Riddle.

Now Dobby was dead, buried on the beach near the Shell House. He had died performing one last life preserving act for his friends.

“Is something wrong, Mister Potter?”

The voice of the elf broke into his memories and brought him back to the present. He shook his head in answer to the question of the elf.

“Does Mister Potter require or desire anything?

“No,” Harry responded. “Thank you.”

The large eyes of the elf widened at the polite response of the wizard. He had heard of the nature of the man before him and had hoped to experience for himself the kindness that he had been told of. Now he had experienced it firsthand and had a story to tell when he spoke to others of his kind.

It was all true! Everything that he had been told about the courtesy that the wizard displayed to others, even elves, was true.

Harry smiled at the reaction of the tiny being and then watched as the elf vanished with a POP. He had grown accustomed to the reactions of his treatment of beings like elves. Even after all that had gone on, after the sacrifices that the elves had made during the war with Voldemort and his followers, many witches and wizards treated elves poorly. Centuries of learned behavior did not go away overnight.

A glance at the clock told him that the workday was nearly over. Somehow he had worked all that time without realizing it. He would go home soon to Ginny and do what he could to continue rebuilding their relationship.

He had no idea what would happen next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter owes a great deal to the influence of J.K. Rowling and her works, especially H.P. and the Order of the Phoenix. It could not have been written without this.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ginny work at rebuilding, another victim is located and James is living the life of a wizard among Muggles as best as he can.

The team of Aurors arrived at the apparently well-kept home that that in the midst of, according to Muggles, a long forsaken neighborhood. When the non-magical populace looked at the area they saw homes and properties ready for the wreckers. A well placed wizard in the local government kept action on the place at bay with a few Obliviate spells placed on key people. With the officials safely unaware of the existence of the rogue properties a conveniently impossible to locate owner who kept the necessary fees paid, the homes remained safe.

As if the Muggles could have done anything about it anyway.

The team made its way up the stairs that led to the front door. Hoping that the occupant of the home would answer the summons, the leader of the group reached out with his hand to grasp the door knocker and then rap soundly on the barrier.

Ordinarily he would have drawn his wand to do this but the owner of the home was known to be a tad eccentric. He preferred that visitors announce their presence in the way that Muggles would and, being a former Auror, told all that he wanted things the way that he wanted them.

Jonas Wetherby was a different sort indeed. A wizard of extraordinary abilities but also one that preferred the ways of the mundane citizenry that lived around him.

Extraordinary or not, the wizard did not appear to answer the announcement of visitors at his door. A second attempt at summoning Wetherby met with the same results. As suspicions of a possible tragedy began to form, the members of the team began to prepare for what they might find when they entered the home.

A gentle test of the door revealed that it was not locked. Casting a grim look over his shoulder the leader pushed the door open, only to recoil at the surge of foul stench that rushed to meet him. This smell and the sound of numerous buzzing insects told them all what they were likely to find.

Cautiously they entered the main hallway and immediately found the source of the smell.

He still lay where he had fallen but now was horribly changed. Bone shone where flesh had fallen away. The face of the man was gone with empty eye sockets remaining where kind brown eyes had once been. Teeth gleamed in the gaping mouth of the corpse and the flies that covered the body swarmed in a black cloud as they were disturbed.

What they had feared was not the case, the truth was much worse than the suspicion.

“I guess that we know why he had not been seen in a while,” an Auror stated after they had retreated back out into the yard.

“He had a broken arm, that much is obvious,” another added.

“We need to let MacLaurie know,” the officer in charge finished before speaking again. “Did anyone see his wand?”

“No sir,” an obviously queasy Auror replied. “It might be under the body.”

Moments later MacLaurie was getting the news about the latest tragedy. All involved in the investigation had wondered when they would find a dead victim and now it had happened. The Aurors on the scene were ordered to remain there while special investigators entered the structure, removed the remains and began the task of determining what exactly had happened.

The picture that began to emerge was not a pretty one.

Damage to the house suggested that there had been a confrontation of some sort. Clearly Wetherby had been pursued through his home by someone, but who? The wizard was a former Auror and had not been one to be trifled with. In possession of his wand he would have been the equal of at least three opponents and would have been able to give more than that number a decent fight.

So how many intruders ad been involved in the fight that had ended the life of Jonas Wetherby? An equally puzzling question was how many of the intruders had lost their lives in the process?

One frightening aspect was the fact that the wizard’s wand was missing. A long piece of wood had been found near the body but it had held no magical qualities whatsoever. A wand had been found tucked away in a box in an upstairs cupboard but a reading of it had informed them that it had not been used, or even held, in many years.

It had nothing of value to tell them.

Also strange was the fact that none of the magical neighbors had noticed anything unusual. The seemingly abandoned area was anything but and a large number of wizarding families called it home Wizarding children ran freely in the area without a care. Until they left for one of the wizarding schools, normally Hogwarts, they learned a great deal about their lifestyle from their families and those that they played with.

The Muggle children would have been stunned had they learned the true nature of their playmates.

The investigators hurried to finish their tasks and soon departed, leaving the luckless Aurors who had been assigned to watch the scene to their duties. While all of these witches and wizards knew that they were more than up to the task of defending themselves should the need arise they were also keenly aware that Wetherby had been much more capable than many of them together were and now he was dead.

Some shuddered inwardly at the thought of it all.

MacLaurie examined the images of the scene, and body, that he had already received. None were pleasant to look at given the condition of the body. Jonas Wetherby had not died an easy, or peaceful, death. It was very apparent that his demise had not been due to natural causes although the examination of his body to determine the exact cause had not yet been concluded.

_‘Potter,’_ he mused, _‘it appears that you shall have a great deal more parchment work to wade through.’_

He chuckled coldly at the thought of the expression on Potter’s face when the wizard saw the mountain of parchment that Wetherby’s death was going to generate.

_‘This whole, sad episode should keep you busy for a few days. The only thing that you can hope for is for all of this to end.’_

The question on the minds of everyone privy to the occurrences was why past members of the Wizengamot? Which past accused was behind the sudden attacks on respected witches and wizards?

He laid the pictures aside and watched as they vanished. They would, along with other gathered information, be in a file waiting for Potter when he arrived for work in the morning.

_‘I hope that you get a good night’s sleep, Potter. You are going to need it!’_

Harry sat at his place at the family table while Ginny sat opposite him. With the children away, Albus and Lily at school and James busy with his own life, Harry and his wife had been attempting to rebuild what had been a happy relationship.

But neither of them were particularly happy.

Harry’s career with the Aurors was at a standstill and not likely to ever get moving again. While she understood how her husband felt Ginny was feeling the weight of the passing years as well. She had been less than successful at landing the position on a team that she had coveted all of her life.

The stint with the Holyhead Harpies had come to an unanticipated end when she was unexpectedly sacked. She had been hurt by it and suspected that it was because of the bevy of younger, faster and stronger witches who wanted to play Quidditch. While the team no longer had her play they had approached her with an offer.

They needed someone to seek out new talent for the team. This was almost like twisting a salt encrusted knife in a fresh wound.

_You are not good enough to play for us anymore but we want you to look for players who are._

She had turned them down and not in a very lady-like manner.

Now she sat across from her husband while they ate quietly. The warfare had more or less come to an end but there were still a great deal of reparations to be paid.

Ginny finally spoke.

“How was your day?”

“It was a bad one, Ginny,” he answered as he looked into her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“These attacks, Ginny, these attacks are becoming more and more violent. Sooner or later someone is going to be killed.”

“Have they gotten that bad?”

“Yeah, the last victim that they brought in is just like the ones before her. All that she can do now is lie in bed and stare at the walls. No expressions, no responses, just a blank stare that is unnerving.”

“Was she part of the Wizengamot too?”

“Yeah,” he answered before revealing what he knew. “It was Bertha Langston.”

“She was part of the assembly that tried to put you into Azkaban for using magic in front of your cousin, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, she was, in fact there was only one witch at the assembly that was more intent than she on seeing me in a cell. Bertha Langston was not always the most pleasant person. She swore that I should have been convicted and tossed out of school for good.”

“I suppose that I was fortunate to have never encountered her,” Ginny replied before taking a sip of tea.

“You likely did, I mean your father worked at the Ministry of Magic for years.”

“But he was never seated during trials except as a witness. He never wanted to have that sort of effect on someone else’s life. I guess that he was always more interested in Muggle artifacts and what they did.”

Harry chuckled at this and his wife looked at him strangely.

“Something funny?”

“I will never forget the time that he asked me about the “function of a rubber duck” while I was at your house.”

“I heard about that,” she answered with a laugh.

“Did you really find your jumper on the cat that day?”

“I certainly did.”

“Anything from the kids today?” he asked.

“We got an owl from Lily and she sounded so happy. She apparently got a Best in Class response on a Herbology exam. Neville told me in his owl that she has been trying extremely hard in class and that it is paying off.”

“Albus?” he asked.

“Nothing new to report, I guess. But he has never been one to write.”

“James?”

“I am beginning to worry, Harry. There has not been anything from him for the longest time. I have talked to everyone who might know anything and have found out nothing. George tells me that he stopped in the shop a few times but has not seen him for a while.”

“Well, at least we know that he has not gotten himself into trouble. I would have been notified immediately if he had come to the attention of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“I really wish that he could have gotten through school. You know that it hurt him terribly when they took his wand. It must be terrible to be magical but to have to live as a near squib.”

Harry sighed as he thought about their eldest child, his grandfather’s namesake who also had his god-grandfather’s name as a middle name. James Sirius Potter, a child that had held so much promise but wanted instead to be known as a tough guy. Now he was despised in much of their world.

Kreacher had appeared as usual to present them with their meals. The elf spent much of his time at Number Twelve Grimauld Place but also was frequently at this home. Harry knew that the ancient elf did not have much time left. He would, someday soon, slip off to that place that was unknown to wizards to spend the rest of eternity doing whatever he wished. Harry and Ginny did all that they could, without offending the house-elf, to make him comfortable.

The house-elf, for his part, seemed to be grateful for this consideration of both his feelings and his advanced age. He had been very touched when the remains of the long dead house-elves had been buried with dignity and respect in the gardens outside the home. This wizard, who he now technically “served”, was showing respect to a race that most witches and wizards still treated as subordinate. Kreacher settled into near retirement with gratitude, having put aside almost all of what he had held dear. Even the burial of the head of his mother, who had followed a custom that her son had also decide to adopt, brought no disdain from the elf. Instead he had shown gratitude to Harry and his family.

Number Twelve Grimauld Place was approaching a new phase in its long life.

The long screeching portrait had settled into near acquiescence at the change that was coming and, after receiving assurance from Harry, had told him how to release her portrait from its place. The witch, now sure that her home would be treated with respect, had settled into a peaceful slumber that only rarely was disturbed.

The home now shone with cleanliness thanks, in great part, to the renewed interest that Kreacher displayed in its restoration. He and Harry had spent much time together making the home what it should have been. Kreacher had even, after his long deceased mistress had agreed to it after being convinced by Harry, restored the Black family tree to its former appearance.

Kreacher was feeling much better about things than he had in a long time.

The elf vanished to return to his home where his own dinner lay in wait. Although he had been invited to sit with Harry and Ginny he still had his pride. He would eat by himself as he had done for these many years. There were somethings that not even kindness could change.

Ginny looked at where Kreacher had stood and then, several seconds later, spoke.

“He really does not have much time left, does he?”

Harry shook his head in agreement. Kreacher was looking, and acting, like an increasingly feeble being.

“I imagine that some morning he simply will not wake up.”

“He’s well over six hundred years old, isn’t he?”

“If what I have learned from him is accurate, he is over six hundred and sixty years old. He has earned his rest when the time comes.”

Ginny nodded her agreement and they ate quietly while they talked, not knowing what had occurred in Jonas Wetherby’s home or about the added work that it would hand to Harry.

They also could not have known about the trouble that was brewing in their own family.

James walked quietly down a street while doing his best to blend in with Muggles his age. While he rather wished that his life was different he WAS finding life as a magical among Muggles fascinating.

More than a few street vendors of food were confused by the sudden disappearance of the young man who had stolen from them and then somehow evaded the police. The officers were just as confused, one of them having pursued the suspect in a theft into a dead end alley. The young man that he had pursued had ducked around a corner, there had been a strange POP and when the officer had rounded the corner himself there was nothing to be found. There had been no doors to go through, no bins to hide in and no windows within easy reach and, added to that, there had been only a few seconds from the time that visual contact had been lost to the complete disappearance of the thief.

It had been a very confused police officer that had emerged from the alley empty handed and a very amused James who watched the proceedings from a safe distance.

James had found that he really did not NEED a wand to get by in a Muggle London. There was enough food, and whatever else he needed, for the taking that he didn’t miss it. There were even places to stay that were out of the reach of Muggles. The locked door of a vacant flat had presented no problems for him. He now stayed in this refuge frequently.

The fact that the building that it was in was now up for demolition aided him. Downstairs, entrance had been barred by large blocks of concrete posted in front of the doors, you simply could not squeeze past them. Windows had been secured with bricks that sealed the openings on the bottom floor. There was no way that a person without the ability to apparate could get into the building.

James Sirius Potter had shelter, at least for now.

He moved with the crowd, getting drenched in the steady rain that was beginning to fall. He was also a bit cold and, as he passed brightly lit windows, decided that it was time that he acquired a coat to go over clothes that were becoming filthy. James knew that his mother would never have approved of the state that they were in anymore that she would have liked his lifestyle.

The bargain store that he was walking by gathered his attention because of the racks of clothing that waited for selection and purchase. Well, he could do the selection part but had no funds for the purchase. This meant only one thing. He stepped into the store, ignoring the disgusted look that the young female clerk shot at him.

Quickly he made his way to the part of the store that held the things that he not only needed, but wanted.

The ignored clerk watched him as long as she could and then, upon losing sight of him, picked up the receiver of the phone at her lane. A few stabs at buttons rewarded her with the voice of her manager.

“What is it, Chelsea?” the bored voice at the other end of the line asked her.

“We’ve got a filthy git in here that I think is going to try to snatch some things?”

This statement got the attention of the normally “to Hell with my job” manager. He glanced at several screens on the wall of his office before speaking again.

“Where is he?”

“He was headed for clothing.”

The manager glanced at the screen which showed that area and, sure enough, he could see a young, rather disheveled man idly pawing through clothes.

_‘Damn,’_ he thought, _‘as if we need another thief in here. I will just watch him for a while before I call the police.’_

James, used to Muggle ways by now, was keenly aware that he was likely under the watchful eyes of cameras. Those cameras were no doubt under the watchful eyes of a person. The boy was under no concern about being accosted, apparation had gotten him out of more than one scrape.

He selected a pair of jeans that looked to be his size as well as two shirts from another fixture. His shoes no longer held out the rainwater so he knew that a pair of those was in order. He didn’t want to attract too much attention so those would need to come from another shop. James glanced at the coat that he wanted and one of them was soon off of the rack. Quietly he walked to the area of the store least likely to be watched.

The manager, realizing that he had misjudged the moves of the suspect, hurried from the office. There were public lavatories in that area of the shop, and those were the best place for a thief to trade in their old clothing for new. He walked around the corner of a fixture just in time to see the door to the men’s lavatory close. Confident of the capture, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to summon the police.

James had seen the man come around a corner as the door closed and did the only thing that he could do.

He disapparated back to his flat.

Outside the door to the toilet the manager heard a strange POP. It was like nothing that he had ever heard before. Moments later a police officer arrived on the scene and together they entered the room to find nothing. No clothes that had been changed out of and left, no new clothes that had been abandoned and no suspect. They searched the chamber thoroughly and left it mystified. Methodically the rest of the shop, including the ladies’ lavatory, was searched for the fugitive with no luck.

The officers, several more had joined the first for the search, left disgruntled. It had been a boring night and all had hoped to be the one to collar the thief. A rather embarrassed manager sat at his desk while he tried to determine just how to fill out the mountain of paperwork that the incident would generate.

James sat in his flat while he prepared to try on the new clothes. He really would have preferred not to have to steal but one had to do what one had to do.

“All that I need now is a decent pair of shoes,” he said to himself.

The old clothes, which he had worn for days, were soon laying in a corner. He wished, not for the first time, that he had a wand with which he could have cleaned them but getting expelled from school had meant the loss of that item.

Looking down at himself he smiled. The new clothes were a distinct improvement over the old and the coat made him feel even better. Now he wanted those shoes. A POP sounded in the room as he vanished. A now closed store would have a late night visitor that those who viewed the security footage would find themselves at a loss to explain.

Puzzled police and employees would, the next morning, watch as a young man simply appeared out of thin air, take a pair of shoes and then simply vanish as strangely as he had appeared. Other than the missing pair of shoes no trace of the visitor would be found.

He returned to his flat and removed the old shoes before settling down for the night. The sound of raindrops pelting the window of the room helped him to fall asleep and his mind, as it usually did, wandered back to an earlier time when life had been much simpler.

In his dreams he was playing with Albus and tormenting Lily. His parents and grandparents were not nearly as intolerable as they had become later in his life. He had felt excitement at being a first year at Hogwarts and his feelings about school had not yet soured.

Deep sleep took him as the other dreams started. These dreams were full of darkness as well as extreme sadness and pain. He had no way of knowing that someone else that he had never even met but whose name that he had heard, or read, was feeling the same things that he was.

And they were happy about it.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another victim falls to the attackers and there is no end in sight.

Thunder awakened her and she opened her eyes to a flash of lightning that she knew would precede another clap of noise. A cold chill ran through the witch and she had the inexplicable feeling that something was amiss.

She reached for the glasses that she recalled leaving on the stand next to her bed, but her searching fingers found nothing. The smooth surface of the table was the only tactile sensation that she experienced. Her heart increased its tempo when she came to understand that her wand was also missing. Until recent times she would not have kept it so close, but the events of the past few weeks had encouraged her to be ready at all times.

Then she heard the voice from the darkness. She had not heard it in years, it had been THAT long, but the voice was unmistakable

“How…?”

“Oh, please, Miranda, surely you knew that I would be back to repay you for all that you helped them do to me! Did you think that all of those years in that cell would lessen my anger and desire for revenge? If you did, then you are no better off than the ones that I have already discussed those past issues with. I am afraid that you will likely fare no better than they did.”

She could vaguely see a figure standing at the far side of her bed chamber. Hating the fact that she had to do it, she fumbled for the chain that would ignite the bulb in the Muggle artifact light on the bed stand. It impacted with her hand and she frantically grasped it before pulling it.

Nothing happened.

“Oh, Miranda, did you really think that my associates and I would allow that quaint Muggle piece of garbage to work? We like it in the darkness and that is how we shall play our little game. The rules are quite simple, we shall allow you to leave this room. All that you have to do after that is evade us. If you can do that until daylight we shall leave you unharmed.”

She felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as she wondered what would happen if she failed in her quest, although she had a terrible inclination that she already knew. If the state of several witches and wizards that she had once worked with was any inclination failure was not an option. The night had a very real possibility of not ending well for her.

“Are you ready, Miranda?”

The terrified witch tried to answer but found that she could not speak.

“There is no need for you to try to scream for help. It would not do you any good anyway. You are also going to find that, should you try it, that apparation will not help. We would find you eventually and my associates would not end things as swiftly because their mercy does have its limits.”

Miranda whimpered softly as she realized that there were other figures in the room, four of them. Abruptly the sheets and blankets that had covered her slid aside and then dropped to the floor. She then found herself being lifted from the bed to stand in the middle of the room.

“It is time for our little game of cats and mouse to begin,” the voice purred. “Miranda, you may go now!”

She nearly stumbled over her feet as she hurried from the room. Without her wand she was terribly handicapped, especially against the opponents that she feared she faced. Darting out into the darkness of her home she made a turn down a familiar corridor. She was rushing towards the main staircase of her home when she heard the voice that she now feared call out to her.

“They’re coming for you, Miranda! Please give them an enjoyable game, they will be most irritated if you do not. Make it a challenge!”

She HAD to find a way to fight back, especially against the owner of the taunting voice. Perhaps that was the key, to strike back at the one that commanded those who pursued her. If she could eliminate this antagonist and gain control of a wand perhaps she would be able to save herself.

With this thought in mind she set out on her mission of survival.

It was not a great help that she lacked her glasses and that her home was totally dark. Shadows cast by familiar, everyday objects became worrisome in the flashes of lightning.

Which shadows were benign and which were malevolent? It was hard to decide which to try to fight when they were everywhere that she looked. She reached the fireplace with its magnificent mantle and the heavy poker that was stationed there. Wrapping her hand around the poker she lifted it to test its heft. It was not magical but still had the power to even the odds if she managed to get close enough and could strike without warning. The act that she intended was extremely mundane in nature, something that a Muggle would employ, but it had the potential to save her life.

“Miraandaaa! Where are yoooou?”

The voice made her shudder and she ducked back into the shadows with her weapon at the ready. Dimly she could suddenly make out movement as one of entered the room. A cold sweat covered her features and now wet palms made the smooth metal of the poker harder to grasp. She debated whether or not to attack at this point and finally decided to hold the attack unless there was a greater chance of success. At the moment there was no reason to break cover and expose herself to this peril.

She waited patiently as the shadowy figure turned and left the room. Apparently the shadows in the room that had been created by the lightning were just as confusing to those who intended her harm as they were to her. Perhaps this gave her a better chance of getting out of this situation in one piece.

With her opponent out of sight she moved to a better vantage point. There was no way for one of them to get behind her and she could also see the entire room from where she was. When the one that she sought entered the room and hopefully got close enough she intended to strike without hesitation.

It would likely mean the death of this person and no doubt be bloody but it had to be done.

She huddled back into the new refuge to prepare for what was almost certainly going to come.

“Miiranddaaa! We’re coming for you, Miranda. You cannot hide forever from us. We are going to find you eventually.”

The voice was closer now. Movement appeared at the doorway and she prepared to use the poker to brain her target. She watched as the movement transformed itself into a figure. Gripping the poker in a death grip she ducked back further into the shadows that concealed her.

“Oh, come now Miranda, we do not have all night for this foolishness,” the voice chastised. Irritation was starting to creep into the voice as Miranda waited to strike.

She watched as the figure that she could not see clearly began a search of the room. It was being slow and methodical in its task and the witch knew that very soon she would be forced to strike.

Trying to quiet her breath as the menacing form neared her refuge, she prepared to take a lethal swing with her weapon. Idly she wondered if she managed to eliminate the apparent leader of the group if the others would depart. Or would they renew their hunt with revenge filled malice.

The figure was closer to where she hid now. A chill rand down her spine and the hopelessness of the situation nearly overwhelmed her. She watched as the searching person moved towards her hiding spot. The time to strike was coming.

“Where are you, Miranda?”

As the figure stuck its head around the corner of the chair that she hid behind she lashed out at this target. She felt and heard the impact and the figure fell backwards as happiness at what she had accomplished filled her. It was almost as if she had somehow cast the Patronus charm without using a wand as hope flooded through her. Holding the poker before her she stepped out of her hiding spot to look down at her fallen opponent.

Then her heart nearly stopped mid-beat.

“Now look what you have done, Miranda,” the voice chastised, sounding much like a mother scolding an errant child. “You have injured one of my associates. They are going to be extremely rough with you now. I am afraid that not even I have the power to call them off after this.”

As she watched in horror, the fallen figure rose to move towards her with hands extended at the level of her throat. The sound of its horrid breathing began to chew away that the hope that she had found. With no other choice she lashed out again and once again felt and heard the impact. The person before her recoiled from the attack and she was able to dart from the room to renew her search for safety.

Behind her she sensed movement as her opponent from moments before emerged from the room to take up the chase again. Terrified as she began to understand the nature of the being that pursued her she forged ahead in the darkness of her home. Her way was lit only by the flashes of lightning.

“Miranda, why do you flee from us? You are only delaying the inevitable. Sooner or later either one of my associates or I are going to catch up with you and put an end to your pathetic, but amusing, attempts to avoid us. Give it up, surrender to one of us now, and I will do my best to convince them to make your end swift.”

Nearly blind with fear she rand forward and emerged into another room. Somehow she realized that she was in her kitchen and that meant that the back door was close. If she could get to it and open it she would be able to hide in the expansive gardens behind the house.

Given the size of the gardens, the darkness and the storm that was raging she felt that she had a very good chance of surviving the night. She stumbled around the familiar room, colliding with a number of pots that were not in their normal places. The collisions created a cacophony of noise, which brought a swift responses.

“So you have found your way to the kitchen, have you? No doubt you are making your way to the back door. Go ahead, try to make your escape, it will just make the game that much more interesting. We still have a good portion of the night remaining to find you.”

Her hand abruptly fell on the door handle and she hurried to jerk the barrier open before plunging out into the maelstrom. Instantly she was drenched to the skin, her gown no protection at all from the elements. There was no need to look behind her to see if the pursuit had continued because it had and it needed to.

She could not be permitted to survive to reveal the knowledge that she had. They were going to make certain that she was just as silent as their previous victims were. The witch had a mark on her and they intended to do what they had come to do.

The pouring rain, whipped by the hellish wind, was making it even harder for her to see. Too late she saw a shrub in her path and this trap dragged her in. She fell hard to the soaked ground and came up covered with mud. This gave her inspiration and even a bit of hope. Quickly she rolled over to cover the back of her gown. Now, she hoped, she would be harder to see. Grabbing up the poker she continued her search for a refuge.

Dimly, and only when the lightning flashed, she could see the quartet of figures as they searched the garden for her. Nowhere did she see their leader and this meant one thing, while the dogs searched for the fox, the master of the hunt waited in a warm and dry place. Soon enough, she feared, the dogs would drag her back into her house and to their master’s feet. There her life would end, or something much worse.

Almost casually she wondered what had been done with her wand, the wand that had chosen her at Ollivander’s all of those years ago. It was strange, the wand that she had wielded for over seventy years was no longer able to help. This, she knew, was the reason that it had been taken, that it had been denied to her. If it were in her hand right now she could do incredible damage to the plans of the ones who meant to end her.

Slowly, almost painfully slow, she crept through the paths of her garden. Perhaps, if she kept moving, they would not find her, daylight would come and they would be forced to withdraw lest they attract attention. Then, perhaps, the Aurors would come to rescue her.

As she moved she remembered a path that would lead her back to her home. If she could get there undetected there was a chance that she could surprise the one that led her tormentors. Maybe she could end this encounter in a different fashion that was planned. With this idea in mind she turned down a path that would lead her to the one that she needed.

Cautious glanced back over her shoulder told her that none of the four figures that were moving back and forth in what was obviously frustration had noticed her. For now, at least, she had given them the slip. But she knew that that could change in an instant. At any moment one of them could spot her and she had no real defense against them.

For an instant she wondered if they were actually looking for her or if they were toying with her, making her think that they did not know where she was. Could they be playing with her in the manner that a cat did with a mouse that it had captured? Were they simply waiting for her to make the move that she intended to?

Either way she needed to move and soon. They were moving inexorably in her direction and would reach her position rather soon. She moved forward as quickly as she dared to avoid creating a tell-tale disturbance. Ever closer to her destination she crept while also trying to keep an eye on the four figures that she was trying to avoid.

Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest when she finally reached the side of her house. She was out of the sight of her tormentors and then, after forcing up what courage she had left, she began a careful crawl to the still open door. Relief swept over her as a glance over her shoulder proved that the four shadowy figures had moved farther out into the garden and away from the house.

_‘I might just have a chance at this,’_ she thought to herself.

Carefully and quietly she reentered her home, dodging the pots that had betrayed her during her flight from her residence. No one and nothing emerged to challenge her and her courage grew.

_‘If I can strike down their leader and obtain a wand I can fight back!’_

She wondered where her adversary was and, after creeping slowly out of the kitchen, began a cautious sweep of the lower level of her home. Cursing for the first time the large size of the dwelling she realized that it might take a while to locate her target. During the time that she was searching her opponent might move as well. Therefore this was going to come down to either someone making a mistake or being very lucky.

While she hoped that it would not happen she also understood that one or more of the group in the garden might decide to return to the house. In that case she would be outnumbered in an enclosed space.

Miranda was leaving her library after a search there revealed nothing when she heard movement above her. A floorboard in the room above was notorious for creaking when trodden upon. It had been that way when her parents had owned the home before her and her father, almost giddy with the defect, had refused to fix it with a simple wave of his wand. To make things worse he had cast a permanency spell upon it that she had yet to be able to reverse. Now, because of this defect, she knew where the person that she sought was. She quickened her pace while also trying to be as stealthy as was possible.

Keeping close to the stair rail to avoid creaking stairs from betraying her she made her way to the upper level of her home.

When she was not challenged at the top of the stairs she moved quietly towards the room that she sought. A fierce wind issued from the door of the room and she moved closer to peer around the frame and into the chamber.

The window of the room had been opened, admitting the wind and some of the rain. Before the window, seated in her great grandmother’s favorite rocking chair and facing away from her, a figure was outlined in the intermittent lightning flashes.

On the table next to the chair she thought that she could see her wand. In that instant, driven by desperation, she made up her mind. She raised the poker over her head and lunged into the room.

Crossing the distance quickly Miranda brought the metal weapon down with lethal force upon the head of the seated figure. There was the sound of the impact and the figure crumpled to the floor. Instantly Miranda dropped the poker and reached out to seize the wand.

Just as suddenly she heard the chilling laughter from the shadows.

“Well, Miranda, it certainly took you long enough to get here. I had assumed that you would move more quickly than you did but no matter. My associates are more than ready to end this little game. I am afraid that you have disappointed them and they want to move on to someone a little more interesting.”

She turned as movement near the window entered her notice and was horrified to see the stricken figure rising from the floor where it had fallen. A second later, the other three forms entered the room, blocking her escape.

“There is nowhere else to go, Miranda. You have reached your last stop.”

The wand in her hand offered no comfort as she realized that, silenced as she was, there was no way to cast the spell that she wanted to. She was nearly defenseless, even with her wand in her hand.

As they closed on her she could see her verbal tormentor step out of the shadows that had offered concealment. The sadistic smile plastered on the face told her that the game was over and she found that she could scream just as a hand wrapped around her throat.

“Do what you wish with her,” the cold voice announced as its owner retrieved the wand that their victim had dropped. It vanished into the pocket of the robes that cloaked the person before a POP signaled disapparation.

Miranda Skeewes did not have long to stare at the ceiling as they crowded around her. Soon her staring eyes saw nothing at all and outside the storm continued unabated. As quietly as they had come, the four figures vanished into the darkness.

The next morning London and the surrounding countryside awakened soaked from the deluge of the night before. MacLaurie arrived in the room that their investigation occupied to find the place abuzz with activity. Something had obviously happened and a touch of fear entered his thoughts as he wondered if it meant that another attack had taken place.

Andrew McBride was at his side almost immediately and MacLaurie turned to his subordinate. The man had a worried look on his face and obviously the news was not good.

“Who?” MacLaurie asked.

“Miranda Skeewes,” came the answer. “She was found this morning by a concerned neighbor. Apparently they noticed some peculiar goings on last night. The fact that her home was the only one completely dark all night aroused suspicions, especially since she was known to leave lights burning, even at night.

“Is that all that they noticed?”

“One witness said something strange about what she saw last night.”

“And what was that?”

“I really do not think that we should put much credence to it, sir/”

“Why?”

“The witness is six years old.”

MacLaurie sighed as he understood. Children did not make the best witnesses, often imagining what they saw. Their information was usually less than credible. Still, the eyewitness account might hold something useful.

“What did the child think that she saw?”

McBride paused for a moment and then continued when he saw the face of his superior begin to grow angry.

“She said that she saw Ms. Skeewes wandering around in her garden in her nightgown, even crawling around on her hands and knees.”

“Crawling around on her hands and knees?” MacLaurie repeated quizzically. “She was in her garden crawling around in the storm that we had last night, and she was doing it in her nightgown?”

“That is what the witness said that she saw.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“She also said that she saw four other people roaming the garden, apparently searching for Ms. Skeewes.”

“Is there anything else?”

“The witness said that she lost sight of the victim and then the other people went into the house. After that she saw nothing else except for the fact that the house was completely dark.”

“What is the condition of the victim?”

“The victim is in a catatonic state. She has not moved and has not said anything since she was brought to St. Mungo’s. Other than the fact that her heart beats she is, for all appearances, dead.”

“Another former member of the Wizengamot,” MacLaurie said slowly as he considered the situation.

With each passing day and incident he became more concerned about the safety of his parents. Both had been a part of the Wizengamot and had worked with each and every one of the known victims.

_‘Perhaps,’_ he thought to himself,_ ‘it is time that they consider moving back to where they belong. I would feel better if they were closer to me so that they could be protected.’_

“Sir?”

He turned to see that McBride was still at his side. Breaking out of his train of thought he gave the man his instructions.

“When Potter comes in tell him that his workload has just increased.”


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny considers what her life has become, the Aurors intensify their efforts and James seems to have found what he has been looking for, or has he?

Ginny Potter had not slept well. She was not bothered by the ferocious thunder and lightning of the storm, actually the witch found those aspects calming. What worried her and had kept her awake, on more nights than one, was what had become of her family.

She had lost one brother, Fred, during the battle against Voldemort at Hogwarts. His loss had done considerable harm to her family, especially her aging parents. Even with the births of grandchildren they had seemed to wither somewhat and neither had managed to regain all that they had lost.

Her relationship with Ron had suffered after her arguments and subsequent duel with Hermione. Now they spoke only very rarely and even then the conversations were strained. Although both couples did their best to be certain that the animosity did not affect them, the children were also showing issues.

It was James that had her the most worried. She and Harry had not seen or heard from their oldest child for quite a long time. His troubles at school had left him with almost no future in their world. No wizard would make him an apprentice and, being that it was James, the boy likely would not last long in the situation anyway. He simply did not have the attention span necessary to be successful in that sort of vocation.

There was also his temper.

James was not as personable as is brother and often saw provocation where there was none. This tendency had brought about his premature and less than honorable departure from Hogwarts.

Ginny wondered if he would ever find his balance and hoped with a mother’s heart that he would.

Albus and Lily did not give her as much reason to be concerned as both were fairly level-headed and not as apt to turn to violence to solve an issue. Both her youngest son and her only daughter were doing what they could to be moderately successful at Hogwarts although the chances of either of them being named best in their respective classes were slim.

She thought about the wizard that was sleeping next to her. Ginny remembered clearly the first time that she had met Harry at King’s Cross. He had been trying to figure out how to get to the platform where the Hogwarts Express waited. Although she had not told anyone until years later, it had been love at first sight. She had known that he was the wizard that she would someday marry.

His had been a brilliant star and an almost impossible bar to reach but somehow he had done it. He, Ron and Hermione had managed to do what was needed to bring Voldemort to final justice.

With that Harry’s future had seemed to be assured. But life, marriage and then children had gotten into the way. He might have gone on to live up to all of the things that were expected of him, perhaps even eventually moving up to the position of Minister of Magic, but the tragedy of the ambush had ended all of that. Accusations of incompetence and possibly even collusion with the dark force had ended his rise and transformed it into a plummet.

The rising brilliant star had become a dim and falling one.

Now the fallen star occupied a desk shuffling parchments for Aurors that he had once led. There was little to no chance of any future advancement and even less of him ever returning to the field. Harry, for all of the fame that he had held as a child, now was forced to work and live in near obscurity. He had gone from being “the boy who lived” to being “the man who might have.”

He stirred in his sleep, a frown crossing the features that she had fallen in love with. Harry Potter was beset with dreams that often tormented him and she had never found enough courage to as about their content. She had enough bad dreams of her own and hers could find their origin during her time as a student at Hogwarts.

Ginerva Molly Weasley Potter still dealt with the memories that Tom Riddle had left her with. The dark wizard had used his powers via his school diary to force her, as an unsuspecting child, to do terrible things. She had nearly died in the Chamber of Secrets as the essence of Riddle tapped her life energy to feed itself. Only the intervention of her future husband had saved her, killed the basilisk and thwarted Riddle’s plans.

At nearly the cost of his own life, only the tears of Fawkes, Dumbledore’s Phoenix, had spared him from a terrible demise because of the venom of the great serpent.

She also lived with the death of her brother Fred. They had all been at Hogwarts during that climactic battle against Riddle, or Voldemort as he called himself, and fifty had died in the struggle against the darkness. But one casualty, Fred, haunted her more than all of the others combined. Even though he had been an identical twin Ginny had, as a sister, seen his individual qualities. These had been things that were lacking in George and their sister had never quite gotten over the loss of her brother.

There had been other things during her life that had caused her distress, but these two things tore at her mind the most.

As she looked at him again her husband opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” he whispered to his wife.

“Good morning, you must have been having some dream,” she responded.

Harry nodded in answer to his wife’s statement as he reached for his glasses.

“It’s these attacks, there is something familiar about them but I just cannot for the life of me figure out what it is.”

“Do you think that it is someone from your past, Harry?” Ginny asked as alarm began to grow within her.

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve dealt with a lot of dark witches and wizards during my time with the Aurors. But, as far as I know, the vast majority are in Azkaban and most will be there for life. There hasn’t been any reports of escapes but there are always those who haven’t been caught or who have been released.

“Do you think that whoever this is will start attacking Aurors or their families?”

Harry shook his head quietly.

“I wish that I knew. There is no way of knowing who was involved in catching up with them. Obviously the Wizengamot was involved because every attack as been on a former member of that body. I’m inclined to believe that it is someone who has been released. There are a lot of former inmates that probably still aren’t happy with the justice that was dealt to them. My desk is full of folders belonging to people like that. They’re all dangerous, some more than others, and a lot should never see the outside of Azkaban again once they get sent there.”

“Then why would there be released?”

“Some of the younger, newer members of the Wizengamot believe that time in Azkaban reforms dark witches and wizard. They don’t often look into the past of the ones that they want to release. That puts innocent people at risk, especially when the former inmate wants revenge.”

“And you believe that that is what is going on now?”

He didn’t speak a word, but the grim nod of his head told Ginny that he believed exactly that.

Ginny looked at the clock-like object that stood in their bedroom, as another did in their living room. Like the one that stood in her parent’s home it told the situation that the members of her family were in. Thankfully it showed Albus and Lily in school while she and Harry were obviously at home. That left James who was, and had been for some time, shown to be in peril. She would have like to have gone hunting for their son, but his age was working against her. The Trace which kept track of underage witches and wizards had expired on his last birthday. Now he was, for all intents and purposes, invisible and obviously not wanting to be found.

She often wondered if they, she and Harry, had been too hard on the boy. Of the three children that she had borne he had been the one that refused to conform. This had led to numerous arguments in the house one of which had brought about the current situation. Now she spent her days wondering in Harry would contact her to let her know that the Aurors had arrested their son.

Harry sighed as he yielded to the inevitable and got out of bed. There was no way to delay returning to work and he hurried to dress before making his way down the stairs where breakfast would be waiting. Kreacher would have seen to its preparation and still could produce excellent breakfasts and actually seemed to enjoy doing it. The smells of breakfast met his nostrils as he entered the kitchen to take a place at the table. Kreacher regarded the wizard with a mixture of respect and disdain.

Although the ancient elf accepted his lot in life and would never consider going against Harry and Ginny, there was still a spark of resentment. The wizard had been good friends with a Mud-Blood, something that irritated the elf. There was also the fact that Harry’s mother had not been a Pure-Blood. His mother had been, like Hermione Granger, Muggle-born and thus not as respected as a witch that had been born to magical parents. This made Harry a Half-Blood, someone that Kreacher would not have respected or obeyed if not for the orders given to him so many years ago by Sirius Black.

Had Kreacher been a younger elf he might have given thought to going against the orders. Sirius Black was, after all, dead and incapable of commanding him further. But Harry Potter now owned Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and had shown, for a wizard, an incredible amount of respect to the elf and his kind.

_‘No,_’ Kreacher had decided one day, _‘Kreacher will never move against Harry Potter or his family.”_

Instead, once Harry and Ginny were seat and as was his custom, the elf and the portion that he had saved for himself vanished. He would eat his meal in the solitude that he had become accustomed to.

The meal went quickly, much too quickly for either of their tastes, and it was not long before Harry was kissing his wife goodbye for the day. The Floo Network to him to his destination and he knew immediately that there had been another attack. A new board with the name Miranda Skeewes met him as he entered the room where he worked. A stack of new parchments and files waited for his review and, as he watched, another stack appeared to join it.

He sighed deeply as he took his seat at the table and then picked up a file. The face that stared blankly back at him was vaguely familiar and he had a distant memory of a much younger version of the witch sitting in on his trial.

She had been one of the sympathetic members of the group. The witch had believed him from the outset and had told him so after the ordeal was over. Miranda Skeewes had even shown him more warmth than his mentor and spokesperson, Albus Dumbledore, had. It had only been much later that the headmaster had told him why he had displayed the apparent distance that had so puzzled his student.

It had been meant to protect him, and at a great deal of danger to Dumbledore himself.

He looked again at the picture of the victim and was struck about how similar it was to a Muggle photograph. No movement at all was displayed save the rise and fall of the chest that breathing produced. At least she still lived, but in her present state how much of a blessing was that?

A picture of the room in her house that she had been found in showed once again an odd situation. Other than the condition of the witch the room looked normal. Nothing was out of place in the “neat as a pin” chamber. Obviously the witch was meticulous about her housekeeping and, just as obviously, robbery had not been the motive.

Scenes in the remainder of the house were just as puzzling. With the exception of a scattering of pots in the kitchen only a poker found lying next to her seemed out of place. It had apparently been a part of a set from a fireplace in another room. He wondered if she had wielded it or if she had been attacked with it.

Once again an unpleasant sensation that all of this was familiar struck him. The condition of this victim, as well as that of the others, was eerily reminiscent of something that he had heard as a student at Hogwarts. A horrible thought began to surface and he spoke to himself in a whisper although he was alone in the room and there was no one else present to overhear it.

“I wonder,” he murmured softly.

As a glimmer of suspicion grew in him he considered approaching MacLaurie with his idea. Just as quickly he quashed the idea. The wizard would not consider listening to his ideas. The ego of the younger wizard had made him nearly unapproachable. MacLaurie refused to listen to anyone, especially Harry, who had an idea. This made many Aurors avoid him and request a transfer when assigned to work with him. Harry had considered this option but they were extremely short of manpower and he knew that the request would fall upon deaf ears.

MacLaurie was having far too much fun to consider allowing his favorite target to escape. Harry Potter was in the inescapable grasp of a wizard that many of their peers considered a low level tyrant.

The pictures of Miranda Skeewes shot from the table to attach themselves to the waiting board. Harry opened the next file and began to read the neat text that described the scene where the victim had been found.

He knew that he would be at it for the entirety of the day and likely much of the next.

While he read the file he failed to see MacLaurie glance into the room. Seeing his former supervisor hard at a job that normally would have been given to a much more junior Auror made him smile. Potter could stay at this level for the remainder of his career and nothing would make his supervisor happier. He really didn’t know why he hated the famous wizard so much but he did.

Perhaps it was because of the notoriety that Potter had achieved without even trying while MacLaurie had worked insanely hard to reach his goal and still had not gotten where he wanted to be.

But he had hope.

This case, these attacks, if he could solve all of this then it would be his name instead of Harry Potter’s that would be spoken in every home. He would become known as the “Auror who had done it.”

He smiled again and then walked away leaving Potter to his task. There were things to be attended to and William MacLaurie could not wait to assign them to someone else.

While his father worked, and his mother worried, James was roaming the streets of London. He knew what he was looking for and where to find it, all that he needed to do was to encounter a different waitress than the time before.

The small eateries along this street had become a favorite haunt of his and he was eating quite well. He had created quite the mystery by simply vanishing after visiting the men’s lavatory. Most of these room had no windows at all or windows that were too small to leave through. The grids covering the opening were an obstacle too. This, of course, presented no barrier to him. He would simply eat and then visit the lavatory before the check arrived. It was actually quite entertaining to make certain that he was seen entering the room, especially by several witnesses, and then leave by apparation.

Obviously this created quite a bit of confusion especially when there was security footage of the entire thing.

As he looked at a row of eateries he settled on one that he had not visited for a while. This habit was a benefit to him. He knew that if he stopped at the same place too frequently he could possibly be in for trouble, something that he did not desire.

Glancing around to see if anyone was paying too much attention to him, as if anyone could, given the throng roaming the sidewalks, he took a deep breath and then entered the business.

He settled onto a chair and soon was giving his order to a quite attractive girl. As she left to deliver the order to the kitchen, James felt almost guilty for what he was planning. Not only would the eatery not be paid for the order but the girl would lose out on the gratuity. She would get nothing for the stunning smile and sweet disposition, not to mention the excellent service that she had given him.

After she had gone once his order had been given he once more took the time to examine his surroundings. There were only a few people in the establishment and none of them seemed to be paying much attention to him. He was simply another face in a sea of faces today.

A Muggle newspaper lay on the table, placed there by the business for customers to read, and he pulled it to him. He examined the title of each story and noticed that the business that he had visited after hours was still puzzling over the incident.

How could someone simply appear, take items and then vanish just as quickly? There had been no signs of a break in and so they assumed that the young man had hidden until after close before taking what he had. But how had he escaped the building and the law enforcement that employees had summoned the next morning? It was a terribly confusing mystery.

James was engrossed in the story and it barely registered when the girl appeared at his table with the food that he had ordered. He glanced up at her and gave his thanks and was a bit startled when she did not immediately depart. Instead she remained as she smiled at him and then she spoke.

“I’m Chloe, I don’t think that I’ve seen you in here before. I certainly think that I would remember a good looking guy like you.”

He returned the smile, feeling guilty as he did so, before answering.

“I’m James,” he responded, “I’ve been here once or twice but I don’t think that I’ve seen you before either.”

“Oh,” the girl responded, “I just started here a few days ago. I really like the job, but the pay and the gratuities are terrible.”

He felt another pang of guilt at this comment as he considered what he was planning.

She paused for a moment once again and then smiled before departing to attend to newly arrived patron. He watched her for a moment before turning to his meal.

While he ate he kept a casual eye on the other people in the eatery. No one seemed to be watching him, with the exception of the girl. There were nothing sinister or alarming about the glances that she was sending his way. In fact, the looks were more of desire than anything. It was then that he remembered the Muggle money that he had in his pocket. The notes weren’t large ones and he made up his mind to leave them for the bill and the girl.

There was something about the girl that made him want to do it.

He sat quietly as he ate, only glancing up when she approached his table.

“Is everything to your liking, James?”

“Yes, thank you,” he responded.

She looked around the shop and then back to him.

“I get off at five. If you are interested I would love to spend some time with you.”

“See you at five then,” he responded.

Another smile was flashed at him before she walked away to answer a summons. He finished his meal and then fished the wad of notes out of his pocket. Chloe appeared again as she arrived to leave the check.

“This is for you,” he said quietly as he handed her one of the notes.

She glanced at what she had been handed and lit up.

“Thank you, James.”

He handed her the notes for the check and then rose. The eyes, and smile, of the girl followed him out of the establishment. As he walked away from the place he was aware that she was watching him through the front window.

_‘Perhaps,’_ he thought, _‘things are starting to look up.’_

Chloe smiled to herself as she watched him walk away. She only turned from the window when he had disappeared from view. Thoughts about the night ahead filled her mind.

James walked quickly through the streets until he reached a safe place to apparate. He vanished with a POP an instant later. The young wizard knew that he was treading in dangerous waters with the Muggle girl.

If she found out that he was a wizard things could get bad very swiftly. Although magicals and Muggles had married and produced children in the past not all cases ended as wonderfully. Many times the witch or wizard had been forced to Obliviate their mate to hide the secret. This, of course, meant that any children produced by the union were usually spirited away to live among the magical population. Obviously this resulted in some angst, especially among older children, as they came to understand exactly what had happened and why they had been affected.

If he had been in possession of a wand all of this would have been easy to solve. He would simply Confund the girl into believing that the ruined flat that he occupied was in much better shape. Chloe could never learn that he was not what he pretended to be a normal, Muggle, young man.

While he thought about this conundrum another mind was also hard at work.

_‘Now the game becomes a little more entertaining. At least for me it has.’_


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is danger in getting too close to the answers for some questions.

Healer Charles O’Toole stood at the bedside of Miranda Skeewes as the thought about the state of this patient as well as others. Obviously this condition was the result of some form of dark magic. Nothing else could explain it. A curse, an a particularly dangerous one at that, had evidently been cast on each of the victims and O’Toole wondered if it was over or if there would be more afflicted witches and wizards brought to the hospital.

More to the point, he wondered if there weren’t victims that were not yet known about. One person had already been found dead and, although there was no proof that their death had been related, they were now included on the list of victims.

Only the slow breathing of the witch in his care told him that she still lived. But given her current state and the nearly impossible probability of recovery to even the smallest degree of consciousness he would have chosen death if he had been in her place. The thought of spending what could be a long life in this state did not appeal to him. In his opinion the thought of moldering in a coffin was much more appealing than rotting in a bed.

He wondered again what she had last seen before entering this coma. Her eyes were fixed open in a blank stare that was unmoving, as well as unnerving. Nothing could be done to change her gaze or even make her blink. As a result, a potion had been placed in her eyes to keep them from drying out.

Anything that could conceivably be done to make these patients comfortable had been.

Some of his colleagues were of the opinion that perhaps a follower or two of Voldemort was still actively seeking revenge for their defeat. While O’Toole didn’t know anything about that he was convinced that whoever was responsible needed to be apprehended, and soon.

Worse still, for the most part the situation had been shielded from the general magical populace. It was feared that should information about the attacks became known two things, neither of them good, would happen.

First, given the identities of the victims, public support of law enforcement would erode. After all, if the Aurors could not protect the small and relatively select group that had been victimized, how could they be expected to protect the masses? The possibility of normal witches and wizards picking up their wands to defend themselves and their families was wrought with the potential for tragedy. Sooner or later rumors about the “guilt” of others would lead to vigilantes taking magical law into their own hands.

The second thing that could occur was that spreading panic would embolden those responsible for these attacks. The frequency might increase and the victims become less select. Anyone might potentially become a victim.

All of this meant that a normally orderly society could devolve into a chaotic state. One the people lost faith in law enforcement and took things into their own hands pandemonium would result. Eventually this would spread to the Muggle world, finally and irrevocably exposing the existence of the Wizarding World and leading to a war between the societies.

It would be a war that neither side could win, or survive. One it started desperate leaders might consider apocalyptic measures to defeat the “other” side. This would lead to horrible casualties on both sides and an open wound that could never be healed.

He turned as a younger witch entered his patient’s room. The daughter of the patient had been a frequent sight in the halls of St. Mungos since Miranda Skeewes had been brought in. She advanced slowly on the chair that she often occupied at the bedside. There she would sit silently, hour after hour, until exhaustion set in and she would surrender to the need to depart. Until then she would maintain her solitary vigil.

He decided to leave her to her privacy and left the room to find an Auror sitting in a chair outside the room. The man looked up at the healer and acknowledged him with a nod but said nothing. Quietly O’Toole walked to his office to examine notes concerning the patients. Each had eerie similarities and he hoped that they would lead to answers.

As he walked he thought with unease about the potential for this thing to spread. Sooner or later someone would get close to the answer and this had the potential to force the hand of the responsible party.

He entered his office and sat down to examine the details that surrounded each victim. What he saw increased his belief that the same set of circumstances had created each victim. All of them had been a part of the Wizengamot at the same time. That meant that they had all potentially created the same enemies.

The illnesses, if they could be called that, had left the victims in a comatose state with no amount of stimulus able to create a reaction. All, save the one that they assumed was a victim, lived but would likely never recover.

He wondered what type of curse could produce these effects. None that he had ever heard of was capable of this, not even the Unforgiveable Curses. One of these killed, but not like this, it killed immediately and left no one to lay in this state.

No, this was something else.

The ghost of a thought, of a suspicion, began to creep into his mind as a chill went through him.

_‘Could it be possible?’_ he wondered._ ‘Who would be insane enough to do this? Surely, if what I suspect is the cause, they would understand what a dangerous game they are playing. This could turn on them as easily as these victims.’_

He wasn’t ready to state his theory, his suspicions, at least not yet, for fear of being thought mad. But sooner or later, unless another cause was identified, he was going to have to speak up, regardless of what it might cost him.

Hours passed as he read report after report and it was only when he glanced at the tall clock that stood in his office that he realized the time.

“Merlin’s Beard, it’s three in the morning.”

He closed the folder in front of him and rose from the chair behind his desk before vanishing with a POP. He reappeared an instant later in the library of his home. A feeling of unease went through him as he was able to wrap his mind around the fact that the room was in total darkness.

Memories of what he had read in the reports, and what he suspected, flooded into his mind as he fumbled for the wand that he kept inside his robe. He backed away towards a wall as his searching fingers continued to fail to find what they were attempting to.

His wand was not where he normally kept it.

A fierce chill raced through his body as he realized that he was seeing shadowy movement in the gloom of the darkened room. Immediately moving away from what he was seeing he made for a door in the corner of the room. It lead to a smaller sitting room which had a door to the main hallway.

The sudden movement towards this door did not seem to have any effect on the indistinct form that was moving toward him. Instead it continued its almost languid movement as though it intended to reach him one way or the other.

As he moved closer to the door he worried about his wife. She would be sleeping in their bedroom and likely not realize that there were intruders in the house. As much as he wanted to speak, to call out an alarm, he found that his voice would not obey him.

His hand reached the doorknob and twisted it to open the portal a second before the figure reached him. He shoved the door open, slipped through the opening and then closed it securely behind him. The figure, whoever or whatever it was, remained placidly behind and made no attempt to follow. Had he imagined pursuit or had it remained behind to ensure that he did not return the way that he had come?

Either way he did not waste time to find out. Instead he hurried to the door that led out of this room and into the hallway. He had to get to his wife, to make certain that she was safe and unharmed. More to the point, he needed to get to the wand that lay in the drawer of the stand next to his side of the bed.

If he could get to the wand he could even the odds of whatever this intrusion into his home was.

He wondered, as he hurried though the darkness, where their house-elf, Edmund, was. Normally the elf would greet him, regardless of the time. But this time there had been no greeting, no query if he needed or desired anything, there had been nothing. Instead, other than this mysterious intruder, he seemed to be alone.

Reaching the foot of the stairs he raced up them, often skipping stairs in his haste to get to the room where his spouse was. He knew that very likely he was telling the intruder where he was as he, at times, stumbled on an unseen stair tread. Still, there was no sign of pursuit as he hurried toward his destination.

That is, until he reached the second floor landing.

As his lead foot touched the carpet that was at the top of the stairs he realized that he was not the solitary occupant of the hall. An indistinct figure stood silently a few meters away. Clearly it was not his wife. It was much too tall and slender to be the witch that he had been wed to so many years before. She would have, unless also unable to speak, called out to him.

The hair on the back of his neck rose as he watched it slowly begin to advance on him. As he turned toward the still closed bedroom door he realized that the stairs that he had just ascended were occupied by a second figure. This threat moved inexorably toward the second floor.

Breaking into a run, he darted past the figure that had waited for him at the top of the stairs. Shoving the door open loudly he raced to the bedside and flung back the covers that shrouded the figure on the bed. Instantly he recoiled as he realized that what waited beneath the sheet and blanket was not his Mary, at least not as he had known her.

A terrible face glared back at him with empty eye sockets and a gaping mouth as arms crowned with talon nailed hands reached for him.

He staggered backward, nearly tripping over a small form that lay face down on the floor. As the figure in bed began to rise to leave it, the figure on the floor began to rise as well. The eyes of the small form glowed with a terrible light as its lips curled back in a snarl that made no sound. Slowly and silently the pair of hideous ruined forms advanced on him as he backed toward the door which still remained open.

As he arrived at the door he became aware of a presence behind him. Lurching to his left he seized a bronze statue and then whirled to lash out with it.

The makeshift weapon smashed into the thing that had threatened him from behind and the figure fell backward to clear a way for his escape. Almost leaping over the body of his attacker he dashed out into the hallway to collide with the next advancing intruder. It staggered backward to go over the rail and fall to the floor of the hall far below.

What struck him was the fact that this person made no cry of terror as they fell to what was likely serious injury, if not death.

He had no time to think about this as he hurried away from the scene of the collision. Even now the things that had once been his wife and the house-elf were emerging from the bedroom while the downed figure that had been struck with the statue was rising to its feet.

With his mind racing because of the impossible nature of it all he set course for another refuge. A wand, unused for decades, lay in a case within the office that he maintained in his home. The hand of his great-great-grandfather had commanded it long before his birth and now, with assailants coming from all sides, it seemed to be all that he had left.

To get to the room would mean a meandering trek through the darkened house and past unseen intruders. All of this for a wand that he was not certain would obey him. No one had even touched the wand, let alone wielded it, since the death of the ancient wizard. It had been entombed in the case since then.

Still, he had to try because it might be the only chance that he had to survive.

Whirling, he rushed past the abominations that had emerged from the bedroom. He felt a chill as one of the talon-like fingers grazed him as what had been his wife reached for him. Hurtling past this obstruction he raced down a hallway that would lead him to what he sought. If he could reach the case and open it perhaps the long dormant wand would choose to accept his grasp and use. If it did he had a chance to strike back at those who intended him harm.

But if it chose to reject him, to defy or violently resist his attempts to command it, then he had no chance at all. He would likely become one of the patients at St. Mungos or worse.

He turned a corner and passed through a doorway which led into a small chamber. The doorway which stood on his left was the one that he needed. He was ready to grasp the doorknob when his hand recoiled as a thought, or a warning, registered in his mind.

The doorway that he had passed through was not as it should have been. As long as he had lived in this, and many years before that, the door had always been closed and locked. Someone had preceded him to this chamber.

He turned back to the errant doorway and his eyes widened as he saw that it was blocked by a shadowy form. Immediately he turned back to the door that he needed and grasped the knob to twist it. He gasped as pain shot through his hand and then traveled up his arm.

The knob was ice cold. It was so cold, in fact, that it was coated with a layer of ice crystals.

Ignoring the pain he twisted the knob and pushed the door open. As he hurried past this now open barrier he shoved it closed behind him. He was rewarded with the sound of a solid impact as whoever had been following him failed to eth through the door before it closed. In an effort to buy time, he turned and the twisted the lock to prevent this person from pursuing him.

Then he turned and walked quickly across the room. All appeared normal and there were no challenges from the dark corners of the chamber. The door on this far side of the room was normal, no strange icy perception as he turned the knob. It lead to another hallway and he could only hope that he had lost his antagonists in the labyrinth of rooms and halls.

The house was confusing enough in the daytime, but now the complex layout of the home was working against him. He could only hope that the confusion did not cost him any more than it already had.

Dimly ahead of him he could see the myriad of doors that flanked the corridor. One of them was the one that he sought but, in his confused state and the darkness, he was not certain which one it was. He hoped that the door was not locked for finding one certain key would be impossible.

Working from memory he eliminated from possibility the doors on the left side of the corridor. None of them could be the one that he sought. It was near the window at the end of the corridor, he clearly remembered that because the room where the wand resided had a window on the same wall. Certain of the location of his destination he hurried toward that door. Quickly he glanced over his shoulder to determine if his pursuers had reached his location. When no sign that he was being followed appeared he managed to relax somewhat.

The doorknob yielded easily and the door swung open on well-maintained hinges. Past this barrier he stepped into the vast and rarely visited chamber. He actually could not remember the last time that he had been in the room. Some of its contents were disturbing enough to make even a veteran healer squeamish.

Years before his own birth, the relative that the wand belonged to had been a healer as well, all of his family had been healers. Artifacts, some of them gruesome and unsettling, from the ancient wizard’s career of over a century as a healer filled cases along the walls ad in the center of the room. A layer of dust covered everything for not even the house-elf could be persuaded to enter this place.

Breaking out of his reverie, Charles hurried to the place where the wand waited. Ignoring the things that had frightened him since childhood, he strode quickly to the case to gaze in at the wad that lay quietly within. Ancient writing covered the surface of the walnut wand and he knew that a battle awaited him.

He might hold the wand, but would it let him use it?

The very old glass that protected the wand shattered as he used the femur of a centaur as a hammer. Ignoring the jagged edges of the glass he shoved his hand into the case to grasp the wand. Immediately, as the wand sensed that a hand other than that of its long ago master now held it, he felt a searing sensation of heat. The wand, long unused, reacted violently as this unknown person withdrew it from its resting place.

His mouth open in a silent scream, Charles could only watch as his flesh turned transparent and displayed the bones within the limb. The smell of burning meat reached his nose as he watched lumps of flesh depart his arm and hand to land in sizzling piles on the floor. Try as he might he found that he could not release the wand. It seemed to have seized him in a death grip which it refused to relinquish as soon as he had pulled it from the case.

As his senses cleared he realized that the door that he had entered the room through was slowly swinging open. Still held in silence he watched as several figures entered the room. They moved silently to create a line that would prevent his escape. The only thing that he could hope for now was that the wand, which seemed to have relaxed, would choose to follow his commands.

Moving as silently as he had, the quartet of whatever they were began a slow advance towards their quarry. As they moved the continually maneuvered to block any chance of his escape and continued flight on his part. Realizing that he had no other choice he waved the wand in a slashing motion.

Almost instantly the figure nearest him fell backwards while also clutching at its throat. He had the impression of something fanning out in a spray as a wound was created.

A second attacker lunged at him, only to be met by a strike from the length of rigid wood. The lunge of the attack was stopped short as the figure reacted as though it had impacted a solid wall. It fell downward in a limp pile that filled a section of the floor.

Sensing that he might have a chance, the healer pressed forward while the other figures fell somewhat back in a semblance of retreat. Again and again he struck with the wand that seemed to have accepted his use of it. As his opponents fell back before him his confidence grew. Perhaps, once this was over, he could have the honor and distinction of unmasking the person or persons responsible for this outrage against their world.

Then all would get to see those who were responsible punished for their crimes.

It was when he reached the center of the room that he realized that he had been mistaken. He became aware that those that he had felled were rising from where they had fallen, seemingly unharmed. As he had advanced past their downed forms he had unknowingly allowed himself to become surrounded. Now he faced enemies on all sides of him and found himself in a perilous situation.

Seemingly unharmed by attacks that previously felled members of their cadre his antagonists now closed on him in an ever shrinking circle. Featureless faces existed everywhere that he looked and he knew that very soon he was going to die.

Hands reached out for him as the attacks from the wand became more apparently useless. He spun in a circle, helplessly looking for any available avenue of escape.

Abruptly a hand dropped onto his shoulder from behind and he whirled, terrified, to look into the eyes of his attacker.

A shout of alarm escaped the young healer who hand entered the office, found him slumped over the desk and had touched him to make certain that he was well.

“Merlin’s Beard, you gave me a fright, O’Toole,” the young healer announced once he had recovered from the shock of the encounter. “Are you well?”

O’Toole looked around his office and then back into the face of the younger man.

“Yes, quite,” he responded. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“I should say,” the other wizard countered. “It is past three in the morning. Why don’t you go home and get some real sleep.”

“I believe that I shall,” he answered as he rose from the chair. “I have had quite enough of this office this morning.”

He gathered his wand and, after tucking it into his robes, vanished with a POP.

An instant later he reappeared with a POP in the library of his home. It took a few moments for it to register in his mind that the room was in total darkness. Alarmed, he reached for his wand just as a firm, cold hand dropped onto his shoulder and spun him around to face the other person in the room.

“Hello Charles, it is so good to finally meet you.”

He tried to scream but, as he fell to the floor preceded by his unused wand, no sound came from his lips. His wide, terrified eyes looked at the last face that he would ever truly see.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry continues to wade through his case load, MacLaurie begins to lose patience and James has an encounter.

James sat quietly on a bench while he waited for the girl. He noted that the times that she had given when she would be free of her obligations at the eatery had passed. Conflicting emotions washed over him as he thought about this development.

On one hand he was anxious to see the girl. Something about her was alluring and almost intoxicating. Had she not been a Muggle he might have wondered if she had slipped him a love potion. He wanted to see her that badly.

On the other hand he almost wished that she would not appear. He still had not solved the issue of the conditions of where he was living. The lack of a wand was complicating things. Without one there was no magical chance of making Chloe believe what he needed her to.

Perhaps she would simply not appear at all and the worrying would be unnecessary.

Abruptly she appeared at the door of the small business and seemed to pause for a moment to say something to someone inside. Then she turned and stepped out of the building where she craned her neck as she searched for something, or somebody.

Her face lit up with a smile as her searching eyes met his. He rose to meet her as she walked to where he waited.

“I was afraid that you would duck me,” she began. “A lot of guys will do that, you know. But somehow I knew that you would be different, I could tell that as soon as I met you.”

“I would never even have considered the thought of ducking the best looking girl that I have ever met.”

Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at the compliment.

“I like you, James. You are so different from most of the guys that I meet. Most of them immediately try to impress me with outlandish claims that cannot possibly be true.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she answered, “a few weeks ago I met a fellow who tried to convince me that he was distantly related to royalty.”

“He tried that?” James answered.

“It angered me so much that I told him what I thought of people like him. Nothing irritates me more than someone pretending to be something that they are not.”

“No chance of that with me, Chloe, I’m about as ordinary as you can find. Nothing special or flashy here, just a plain, unassuming guy that has not really decided what to do with his life. School was just not for me,” he explained as they walked, “and I would up getting into a bad situation with the headmaster and professors. A lot of it was my fault, I could not follow the rules and got expelled.”

The girl winced at this revelation but did not recoil from him. Obviously she saw something within him that she found to be appealing.

“Were you at university?”

“No, it was a school to learn how to do things with my hands,” he answered.

“My Mum wants me to go to university but I really do not want to. I hate sitting in class.”

“A like spirit,” he responded as he walked with the girl.

She smiled while nodding her agreement with the statement.

“James,” she started.

“Yes, Chloe.”

“I do not wish to sound bold, but is your flat nearby? I hope that I do not sound too forward, I just want to get to know you better.”

“Chloe,” he answered, “right now I do not have a flat. I am between places to stay. My last flat was in a building that was in deplorable condition. It really was in no condition to be lived in. The bloke that owns it is a miserable sort that only worried about the money that I was giving him.”

“How horrible!”

“I got tired of the conditions and moved out. He got what he deserved though, the building got condemned and is going to be demolished.”

“Well,” she continued with flashing eyes, “I think that they should jail him! Where are you staying now?”

“I usually stay with friends around the city.”

“Usually?”

“The parks and other places are not really too bad to stay in at night. You just have to make certain to check things out to avoid the police and other problems.”

“You stay outside?” she asked with her eyes wide with alarm and concern.

“It really is not all that bad.”

“I think that it is awful.”

“Things will get better,” he offered. “I just keep telling myself that and it helps.”

“I still think that it is awful.”

As the couple walked James found himself becoming more at ease with the girl. Chloe did not seem to have any sinister agenda that he could determine. She seemed to be genuinely interested in him and it pleased him. Perhaps he could forget about the last few months and the events of that time period.

He wondered what his parents, especially his father, would think if they knew about what he had been enduring. It was not that he hated his father, or even really disliked him, but even the dramatically fallen Harry Potter had set an impossibly high bar for his son.

James had hopes that he might someday be able to reunite with his family. If he could do so with Chloe at his side he felt that things might improve. All that he could for was that the girl would accept him for what he was and not be dissuaded by the differences that existed between them.

Abruptly they stopped in front of a large building and she turned to face him.

“My flat is in this building, James. Would you like to come in and have something to eat? Mum always makes far too much so there will be extra.”

“Are you certain that she will not mind? I do not want to impose.”

Her response was to reach out and seize his arm before pulling him towards the door.

“Come on you,” she announced with a giggle.

He allowed himself to be pulled into the building and then down a short corridor. Talking and laughing they walked along the narrow space pas a number of doors until they stopped in front of one. James was stunned when Chloe suddenly whirled to face him, threw her arms around his neck and then pressed her lips against his. He didn’t struggle against the pleasant experience as his arms went around her torso.

Finally, her eyes sparkling with merriment and mischief, Chloe pulled free of him. She grabbed his hand once again before opening the door and then pulling him into the flat beyond it.

The door closed slowly and silently behind the young couple.

Hours later, in the room which the Aurors used as an office, a sense of alarm was growing. Healer Charles O’Toole, an extremely dependable and punctual wizard, had failed to appear when he was expected to.

The healer was in charge of many of the high profile patients who had been affected by whatever this was. Many wondered if he had fallen victim to the situation and already thought was being given to have the Aurors investigate. A group of the law enforcement officers was being prepared to issue forth to the home of the wizard.

Harry looked at the latest information to come across the large table that he used as a desk. His eyes narrowed as he read notes that O’Toole had left. The healer had been working on a theory that, for him at least, made sense. Harry would have been interested in learning what that theory was but O’Toole had never openly spelled it out. It was apparent to the Auror that the healer may not have totally trusted someone at the hospital. Perhaps he had been worried that he would look as though he had gone mental if he disclosed what he suspected and then was proven wrong.

Or perhaps the healer had been on the right track and feared that the responsible party would gain knowledge of his beliefs and dealt with him as had been done with the others.

There was also the possibility that O’Toole was safe and sound. Perhaps the man, who had put many hours into the pursuit of this mystery, had taken a day to rest and regroup.

Any way that it turned out, the disappearance of Charles O’Toole had shaken the investigation. With him gone, if he had become a victim as well, the chances of a quick resolution to this was gone as well.

Harry laid the parchment that he had been reading aside and turned to notes that he had made himself. All of this had a vaguely familiar feeling that was ominous.

Rising from his chair he walked to the boards that held information on each of the known victims. It was the eyes that bothered him. Each patient had the same haunting expression in their eyes. All of them had apparently seen something terrifying before their minds collapsed, or had something taken from them. He wondered what that something was, and hoped that what he suspected was not the case.

Harry Potter had seen firsthand the near results of that and could not forget it. What he had seen terrified him still.

_‘Sirius,’_ he thought to himself, then another name came to mind. It was a name that had once provided hope and he wondered if it still could, or more importantly, would.

The conflict between Ginny and Hermione still prevented what had been a trio of close friends from being just that. Harry would have loved to be able to consult, as he had so many times, with the pair that had done so much to make his time at Hogwarts tolerable.

The POP of apparation alerted him to the fact that one of the elves that often delivered reports to him had arrived. When he turned he was pleasantly surprised to see only one new piece of parchment being placed on the table. The elf, who reminded him a great deal of Dobby, gave him a smile and the vanished.

A moment later he was examining the report and frowning.

This was not a report from the hospital but instead one that he had requested from the administration of Azkaban Prison. The officer that had been assigned this request had the same theory that Harry did, that these attacks and the identities of the victims made it clear that they were connected to the prison. The fact that all of the victims had been a part of the Wizengamot at the same time gave them a chance to narrow the window of potential suspects. He had requested the names of any convicted witches or wizards who had been brought before that body at that time. Minor infractions that had landed someone before judgement were not what he was looking for.

He was looking for those who had possessed the potential for serious injury, death, or worse to their victims.

There were several names on the list and, thankfully, notations about their current dispositions. Some were confirmed deceased, while others were presumed to be so and still others were detained in this very hospital. This did not alarm him because if they were here they were in much the same situation, and condition, as former Hogwarts professor Gilderoy Lockhart. The minds of these witches and wizards had been devastated in one way or another and even the most charitable of souls had a hard time feeling any sympathy for them.

Another group consisted of those who were still confirmed to be at the prison, many destined to be so for the remainder of their lives. These were the ones that society was best protected from. Many of Voldemort’s followers were among this group and Harry took comfort from this knowledge.

His family was safe from them, it was the final group of names that concerned him.

There were only a very few names on this list and those names represented those who were, for one reason or another, unaccounted for. As an Auror, Harry was mystified and concerned that ANY convicted witch or wizard could be unaccounted for. He simply did not understand how this could be allowed to happen. The individuals on this list were on it for a reason, usually for some horrendous crime against their world.

As he thought about all of this his mind wandered back to the folder that he had opened only to slam it shut again.

_‘Are you involved in all of this?’_ he thought as he remembered the face that had stared at him balefully from the picture in the folder. _‘This seems life something that you would be involved in and would likely find enjoyable.’_

He didn’t have to think hard to remember the last time that he had seen the witch. She had been a revised terrible memory and he still, at times, felt the very real physical recollection of the time that he had spent in her presence. The mere thought of her made him flex his hand involuntarily.

Harry Potter had tried, without much success, over the years to forget Delores Umbridge. Memories of the witch refused to fade no matter what was done short of having Obliviate used on him. As tempting as it was to agree to it, he wondered if it would truly remove the memories of just bury them. Either way he wondered if it was worth it.

Memories of the time spent in the presence of Umbridge weren’t pleasant. By comparison she had made Professor Severus Snape appear almost joyful to be around. It had been moderately entertaining as well as unnerving to see Snape almost nervous, in his own fashion, while being questioned by the witch. This was the ONLY entertainment that Harry and his friends had found in the whole situation. The rest of the time was something that most had tried to forget.

Most that is except for the few, mostly Slytherin, students who had readily jumped at the chance to become part of the “Inquisitorial Staff.” Draco Malfoy had been among the first, along with Crabbe and Goyle, to volunteer for the group. Not that it had done them any good at the time, other than a chance to get away with tormenting those who were “under suspicion.”

Shaking his head to clear away the memories that were beginning to crowd into his mind he wondered not about who might be responsible but instead how they might have done any of this. Only a very powerful curse could have done this and not without risk to the caster. Of the Unforgiveable Curses only the Cruciatus could produce anything close to these results. The results of the other two were either being forced to act against one’s own will or instant death.

As he thought about Umbridge he considered the fact that never had she resorted to anything close, although she HAD threatened to, to using the Unforgivable Curses. She normally had counted on Veritaserum to get what she desired.

The more that he thought about it the more that he began to discount Delores Umbridge. She might have been evil, but had never really done much to produce permanent harm. Umbridge had wanted immediate satisfaction and would not allow much to get into the way of that.

A POP behind him announced an arrival and he turned expecting to find an elf with more files for him to examine. Instead he found a much less pleasant visitor.

William MacLaurie cast an imperious gaze around the room before settling it on Harry. He exhaled a long breath before speaking and that sound told Harry that what was coming was not going to be any more pleasant than the wizard who was saying it was.

“Potter,” MacLaurie announced, “I sincerely hope that you have made some semblance of sense out of all of this.”

“We’re doing everything that we can, MacLaurie.”

“And taking a great deal of precious time to produce a pitiful response. What have you been doing down here, Potter?”

Harry felt his anger growing as the other wizard continued with his tirade but said nothing. MacLaurie, mistaking the lack of an answer for weakness or even fear, continued his attack.

“I knew that you could not be counted on to do us any good, Potter. We would be better off using a raw recruit to do this than putting our faith in the “Boy Who Lived!”

Now Harry was pressed beyond tolerance, something that he hated, and his anger flared.

“Just as you are the Auror who Cannot! You forget, MacLaurie that I was there when you were training. You also seem to forget that, had I not decided to intercede on your behalf, that you likely would have washed out early in your training. I knew that it likely was going to happen but I saw potential in you. My downfall came because of faulty information that I received. Your near failure was due to an inept young wizard who wanted desperately to become something that he should not have!”

Now it was MacLaurie who was fighting his anger. The older Auror had struck a sensitive nerve that was known by many to exist.

Lashing out at Potter was not a brilliant idea. Potter still had loyal friends within the department and the incident that had led to his fall was being investigated once again. There were those within the Department of the Aurors that questioned Harry’s guilt.

Some parts of the report of incidents leading up to the tragic ambush did not add up.

Harry looked at the other wizard for a moment. He regretted the fact that there were hard feelings between them. Once, although it seemed so long ago, he would have been able to call MacLaurie a friend. But ambition had gotten into the way and the younger man had seized opportunity when it had risen.

Things in the department had gotten difficult.

A dreadful pause ended when MacLaurie abruptly turned and stalked out of the room. Harry glanced up at the clock, decided enough was enough for the day before he gathered his things and vanished with a POP.

Ginny looked up as her husband appeared.

_‘At least,_’ she thought, _‘he is making an attempt to be home more. Perhaps there is hope for us after all.’_

He stepped forward to embrace her before looking around the room.

“Any word from the kids?”

“Nothing from the lot. At least we do get some news from Albus and Lily, but nothing from James. Harry, I am so worried, I keep waiting for terrible news about him.”

“I talked to some people in the department and they have promised to try to find him if possible. The problem is that without the Trace he will be hard to locate.”

Harry suddenly realized that Ginny was looking past him and turned to see the hands on the clock which gave the status of family members. He and Ginny were marked as being at home while Albus and Lily were denoted as being safely at school. James, however, was marked as being in peril. This situation had been in effect for quite a long time and, while it was disturbing, it did not constitute a threat to his life.

“Ginny,” he continued as he held her, “I am certain that they will find him soon or he will come wandering in of his own accord.”

She nodded quietly to his comment before suddenly stiffening and gasping. He looked into her suddenly wide eyes and turned to follow her gaze to the clock.

The hand marked James and which bore his picture had moved, and where it had gone frightened him immensely.

It now read **EXTREME PERIL**!


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has to flee for his life, Harry and Ginny get a big surprise and old friends are brought into the fray.

A feeling of unease came over James as the door closed behind him. Until that moment Chloe had been enchanting, almost intoxicating, but things had changed quickly and dramatically.

The flat that the girl had led him to had, at first, been inviting enough but it, and she, turned dark and frightening in a heartbeat.

“Hello James,” she snarled, “I cannot tell you how long that I have waited for this day, how long I have waited for the vengeance that is owed me. I am going to enjoy every second of what remains of your life. You may thank your parents, especially your father, for what you are about to endure.”

“Who are you and how do you know my parents?”

“My name is not important and while they were never my friends we did know each other fairly well.”

“You need to tell me who you are.”

“I will do no such thing.”

The darkened flat did not offer much in the way of an escape route and this worried him. He began to wonder if apparation out of the flat, if it worked, would be a possible escape route. He also wondered if the girl, if that was what she was, would be able to pursue him if he did apparate.

Chloe was not a Muggle, that much was certain, but how powerful were her abilities?

“Do I frighten you, James Potter? Do you wonder what your renowned parents have done in their past to create this problem for you in your present?”

What James could see in the darkness told him that he might have a chance of escape. There was only the person in front of him and the decision was easy to make.

A second later he vanished with a POP and the interior of the flat vanished from focus.

Behind him, without alarm, and still in the flat Chloe smiled to herself.

James appeared in the battered flat that he had been living in. He was pleased when he saw no sign of pursuit and was just beginning to feel at ease when movement in the shadows alerted him to a presence.

“That was truly not very polite, James. Leaving without saying goodbye is in very poor taste and I would have thought that your parents would have taught you better. Surely you will not object to a little bit of entertainment, I have arranged a little game for you to play!”

Abruptly he was not in his flat, or Chloe’s, he was in a strangely familiar place. Diagon Alley, or at least something that looked incredibly like it, stretched out before him but with a frightening difference. Unlike the place that he was familiar with it was totally deserted.

“James, it is time for you to play a game of Catch Me if You Can with my associates. The rules are very simple, do not let them catch you. If you can avoid being caught until daylight you will be free to go. But should they manage to catch you the results will be rather unfortunate. The last few people to play did so rather poorly and were a disappointment to my friends. Please do try to amuse them because they get ill-tempered when they are bored.”

Alarmed, James opened his mouth to speak and found that he could not. He whirled to confront his tormentor and was stunned to find no one there. James Sirius Potter stood alone in the center of the street and was uncertain what to do next until he suddenly caught sight of wispy motion near him. Remembering all that he could of Diagon Alley he dashed away from this movement.

There are a number of shops in the alley and the boy hurried towards Ollivander’s. There, although he had not been chosen by any of the wands, he hoped to find one that he could use to defend himself.

As he ran, he noticed movement ahead of him. The dim light prevented him from seeing the other person clearly but he could see them well enough to be frightened.

_‘No,’_ he thought with alarm, _‘don’t let it be one of them.’_

Knowing that his best chance lay in staying on the move and out of sight he hurried toward his destination. The last thing that he could let happen was to let them corner him. He needed to keep an escape path available at all times if possible.

Side alleys that he was not familiar with arced off of the main alley at times and their dark nature even in the best of times kept him from exploring them as a refuge. No doubt those who pursued him knew them well and would have little difficulty in tracking him. They would know where to go to surround him.

James wondered how this was happening, things had been so wonderful until they stepped into Chloe’s flat. The girl had been charming and seemed to be exactly who he was looking for.

But obviously this had all been a lie with a sinister motive.

“James,” he heard her call, “why don’t you slow down and let them catch up with you. Clearly you have a destination in mind and I have to wonder where it might be. Surely you cannot be running to where I think that you are. That would not be fair of you at all if you went there. I assumed that the son of the great Harry Potter would be more of a sportsman. Apparently you are just like him, a liar!”

He could see the front façade of the building that he sought but somehow, no matter how hard and fast that he ran, it never seemed to get any closer very quickly. In fact, he seemed to be moving towards it at a snail’s pace.

Movement in front of Gringotts told him that at least one of whom was pursuing him was moving in his direction in an effort to hem him in and block him from reaching Ollivander’s.

He was quite aware that there was a second figure trailing him to ensure that he did not backtrack, at least not without difficulty. Somewhere, Chloe, or whatever her name was, was also working against him.

There was little doubt that “Chloe” had met his parents, especially his father, at some time in the past. Had his father arrested someone close to the girl? Or had there been some other adverse contact that he was unaware of? Either way, and no matter what had happened, he was likely going to pay a price.

He wondered just how high that price was going to be and if he would be able to afford it.

Movement to his right alerted him to a rushing form. A stack of cauldrons outside a shop gave him inspiration and, moving swiftly, he seized one to swing it at this opponent. The dull sound of the impact cheered him and, as the figure fell away from him, he renewed his dash to the now much closer shop that he desired.

As he reached the door to the wand shop and shoved it open he was aware that, beyond possibility, the person that he had hit with the cauldron was rising again. James ignored this as he shoved the door closed behind him and then hurried to the space behind the counter.

Looking over his shoulder he watched as the door that he had entered the shop through swing slowly open. An indistinct form filled the doorway as he seized the first box that his hand fell upon. It and the material which was wrapped around the wand fell to the floor as he grasped the implement and shook it at his antagonist.

A searing pain shot through his hand and arm as the wand briefly resisted his use of it but then a bolt of pure white energy lashed out from its tip. An instant later the figure was hurled backwards as the energy enveloped it.

There was a scream of hatred that could only have come from the girl as one of her accomplices flew head over heels to land in the center of the street. Rolling over and over from the force of the strike the body finally came to a stop and lay very still.

A second form suddenly appeared as it moved noiselessly down the stairs. It was just as indistinct as the one that still lay in the center of Diagon Alley and moved with the same dreadful purpose. A second later it too was wrapped in the pure white beam of power and was sent crashing through one of the large windows that allowed shoppers to gaze at the wares on display. Broken wood and millions of shards of glass littered the stones of the street around this second figure.

He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when two other figures simply appeared in the center of the street. They made no move to advance but stayed where they were. Movement before them alerted him and he could only watch as the first figure that had been blasted by the wand slowly stirred and then rose from where it had fallen.

A short time later, the second figure did the same.

James, already nearly beside himself, prepared for the coming assault. Then the hated, and somewhat feared, voice reached his ears.

“Well done, James, well done, but you have not won yet! We all know that very soon the shop will be stormed and, while you are very good with a wand, you cannot hope to hold off my associates forever. One of them, or perhaps even myself, is going to get past your defenses. In the end, no matter how hard you try, one of us is going to get you and put an end to this game.”

Unable to tell where his tormentor was located James prepared for the assault that he knew was coming. As he prepared James thought about a plan of escape that he was not certain was going to work. It had a ghost of a chance of success but it was also the only chance that he had of survival.

A second later the quartet rushed towards the front of the battered shop as he visualized the one place where he felt that he would be safe. The interior of the shop swam out of focus and then vanished to be replaced an instant later by the living room of his parent’s home.

The POP of his arrival startled Harry and Ginny who whirled towards him, wands at the ready. Those wands slowly lowered as they realized that their oldest child was back in their presence.

“James,” Harry exclaimed, “where in the name of Merlin have you been? We have been worried sick for weeks.”

“They’re right behind me, Dad,” he announced, feeling surprised that he could speak.

“Who’s right behind you, son?” Harry responded.

“There’s no time,” James answered as he tightened his grip on the wand that he still held. “They could be here any second.”

Happy that their child had returned but also alarmed by what he was saying, Harry and Ginny prepared their wands once again as they waited for whoever, or whatever, James was fleeing. Long minutes ticked by on the clock as they waited for the POP of apparation that would announce unwelcome arrivals.

Certainty changed to confusion as James, his confidence bolstered by being in the presence of his parents, prepared for the fight that he knew was coming.

Harry was long accustomed to having to use his wand to defend himself and knew that, unless the attackers were large in number, the three of them could give good account of themselves.

When it came, the intrusion was not what they presumed that it would be. Instead of the POP of apparation a chilling voice echoed through their home.

“Well, Mister Potter, our paths have crossed once again and this time I assure you things will go much differently. This time my associates and I will be the triumphant ones and you, your wife and your son will, unfortunately, not fare so well. I intend to take full revenge on you, your family and your friends and I shall not miss anyone. It does not matter where in our, or the Muggle, world they try to hide because I will find them all! Dear little Albus and Lily are not as safe at Hogwarts as you believe them to be. They are all very reachable and I shall enjoy watching them suffer.”

“You destroyed Lord Voldemort and thought that those who followed him would go quietly into the shadows, but you were wrong. We have been waiting patiently and now our time is at hand. No one shall be safe for we shall have our due.”

“Little James is home now with Mommy and Daddy but he will not be safe for long. Thank you, James for showing us the way to your family’s home. Now that we have found it, we shall be visiting it very soon.”

The tirade ended with maniacal laughter and a howl from James. Harry and Ginny turned in time to see him hurl the suddenly white-hot wand across the room while also trying to cradle his injured hand. As it landed on the floor, the wand dissolved into only so much dust and a noise from the clock drew their attention. Their eyes widened as they saw that every hand now occupied the same position.

Every hand, including those for Albus and Lily, now rested on Extreme Peril.

Ginny hurried to her son’s side to look with concern at the injury that his hand had sustained. An ugly red mark extended the width of his palm and threatened to get even redder.

A wave of his mother’s wand did some good and offered a bit of relief but the young wizard was still very aware of the presence of the injury. He had the impression that his hand had been inserted into a roaring fire and wondered how long he could bear it.

While his wife attended to the needs of their child, Harry cautiously approached the remains of the wand and watched as the ashes that remained of it vanished into nothingness. Only a tiny shard of crystal remained and he used his wand to make the object rise into the air. An image was etched into this shard and he squinted at it for a long moment until it swam into clarity.

It was the Dark Mark.

Memories of the past came back with frightening speed. All of it frightened him and he wondered which of Tom Riddle’s followers had resurfaced. Would this revelation be met with the same sense of denial and disbelief as it had after Cedric Diggory’s death in the graveyard where Voldemort had finally been brought back to a permanent physical form.

All of these thoughts brought back vague memories of time spent in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom at Hogwarts as they listened to Umbridge spout Ministry nonsense about Voldemort’s return. Delores Umbridge had been almost rabid in her response to his claims about the return of the dark wizard.

The dark wizard that was directly responsible for the fact that he was an orphan.

His hand still ached at times as memories of the detention that he had served and the “special” quill that he had been forced to use that night resurfaced.

Ginny looked at her husband for a moment before speaking. He had been watching intently as the shard itself faded into nothing.

“Harry, what does this all mean?”

“I think that it may mean that we need to talk to Ron and Hermione. There is no doubt in my mind that they, Rose and Hugo will also be in a great deal of danger.”

“Do you think that we can chance apparating to their house or should we send an owl?”

“We need to apparate,” he answered. “Whoever this is could intercept an owl and we would never know.”

The trio gathered in the center of the room and then vanished with a POP.

Hermione Granger-Weasley looked up from the book that she was reading as her relatives appeared in her living room. It was not customary to just apparate into the home of someone else, even if they were family. The sudden presence of Harry and James did not cause her any irritation, but the appearance of Ginny in her home put the hair of the witch on end.

“Hermione,” Harry asked quickly, “where is Ron?”

“Harry,” she answered when she got over the surprise of their appearance and could speak. “Ron is at the shop, where he normally is this time of the day. What is going on?”

It was at this moment that she realized that James was with his parents.

“James, when did you come home? Your uncle and I have been terribly worried about you.”

“Hermione,” Harry cut in, “have you had any contact with Rose and Hugo?”

“Harry, I really don’t understand why you are here. Everything is completely fine. Rose and Hugo are having a great term and the last thing that they need is to have to deal with her,” she responded as she glared at Ginny.

The fact this was occurring was not lost on Ginny and Harry could see the impending explosion before it happened.

“You have to deal with me, Hermione, because Harry and I thought that it was important to speak to you and Ron.”

“There is nothing going on that I would find important enough to speak to you ever again, Ginny.”

“Oh, be reasonable for once, Hermione! Get your face out of your books long enough to see that we are here for an important reason.”

“Reasonable?” Hermione answered as her voice rose in volume and pitch. “Who are you to call me unreasonable when you were the one that started this whole thing with accusations that you knew very well were not true! I thought that we were not only sisters-in-law but also friends. But you have proven that second condition to be incorrect.”

Harry would see the situation deteriorating rapidly and was just beginning to wonder what else could go wrong when a familiar, and every unwelcome, sound came from the clock. A glance at the clock told him that what he suspected was correct and he turned back to the escalating argument, which was threatening to turn into a duel.

“Ginny, Hermione,” he attempted to break in. But the witches were now nose to nose and neither looked inclined to back down from the heated conversation.

James was also looking on, his hand forgotten in the heat of the moment. He could see what had alarmed his father and clearly neither his mother nor aunt was paying attention to Harry’s attempts to intervene.

Finally he took matters into his own hands.

“Will you both stop arguing and listen to what Dad is trying to tell you!”

Startled into shocked silence by the abrupt outburst from the young wizard Ginny and Hermione turned to face James.

“Dad has been trying to tell you something important and all that you both want to do is argue! We don’t have time for this nonsense.”

Angered by Ginny, shocked by James and annoyed by Harry, all that Hermione could do was to stare at her nephew.

“They’ve been trying to tell you that we are all in a lot of trouble, Aunt Hermione. Not just Dad, Mom and I, but every one of us is in danger.”

“What are you talking about, James?”

The young wizard turned to point at the clock where the hands denoting Ron, Rose, Hugo and Hermione herself indicated that they were all in extreme peril.

The face of the witch blanched as she finally understood what they had been trying to tell her. Now she remembered the memo that had come across her desk which had been meant to alert the Ministry employees of a threat.

“It can’t be,” she whispered. “I thought that they were mistaken or that it was all a big hoax. Harry,” Hermione continued, “has the Department of the Aurors received anything about all of this?”

Harry nodded quietly as he unconsciously flexed the hand that even now was aching, as it had all of those years ago.

This did not go unnoticed by his former schoolmate. Hermione remembered very clearly the injuries that her friend has sustained and how they had occurred. She also recalled that both Ron and she had plead with him to report the situation to Dumbledore.

Their pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

Harry had wanted no part of it and the whole thing had resulted in the creation of Dumbledore’s Army, although the headmaster had known nothing about the organization. They had needed practical instruction on how to defend themselves against dark forces and Umbridge had outright refused to give it to them.

“There is no reason to train for a threat that does not exist,” she had insisted.

But it had all been a lie.

Dumbledore’s Army had been found out and the beloved headmaster replaced by Umbridge herself. Life had gone from bad to nearly intolerable.

In the end, after much suffering and outright rebellion Umbridge had been deposed and Voldemort’s return confirmed.

All of this seemed very familiar, now all that Harry needed was proof.

A sudden POP in the room made all present whirl in that direction with wands drawn, if they had one.

Ron stood frozen where he stood, his eyes wide as he faced a trio of wands pointed at him.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends come back together to face a common foe, MacLaurie fights a lost battle and the identities of two responsible for the pain of many are revealed.

Ron Weasley, his eyes wide and mouth open, looked from person to person as he wondered what had happened, what he had done that was so wrong to get a greeting such as this.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed to mutter, “I promise that I will be home on time from now on.”

Hermione, recovering from her shock, quickly lowered her wand and rushed to embrace her husband. Ron looked past her mane of hair and realized that he had not been seeing things. His sister, who he could not imagine Hermione inviting back into their home, Harry and James stood quietly while they waited to continue whatever discussion that they had been having with his wife.

“Hi, Harry, Ginny, James, what in the name of Merlin is going on? What are all of you doing here and when did you come home, James?”

“Ron,” Hermione quickly exclaimed, “they have only just arrived a short time ago. Ron, they are telling me that we are all in very grave danger. All of us, and that means Rose and Hugo as well.”

“The kids are in danger?” he asked. “How can that be when Hogwarts has every defensive spell and charm possible covering it?”

“I’m not certain, Ron,” Harry answered, “but one thing is for certain, they might need help and we need to be ready to give it to them.”

“What about the Aurors? Can they do anything to help?”

“I doubt it,” Harry said quickly, “they are already spread so thin that they can barely maintain the coverage that they do have on priority targets. With all of the shields that Hogwarts has in place I doubt very much that MacLaurie will even consider sending a token force to patrol the school and its grounds.”

“What about Hagrid…?” Ron began.

“Hagrid is one person and there is a lot of territory around the castle. The centaurs would not get involved in this, and the spiders weren’t friendly at all during the battle. Remember, they took the side of Voldemort’s army. We cannot count on many of the creatures around Hogwarts.”

“What about Hogsmeade? Surely they could help?”

“I doubt it,” Harry repeated, “they will have enough to defend if this turns ugly. We need to remember that a great deal of the population there are elderly or infirm and not in the condition that they need to be in to manage a fight.”

“Then we’re on our own?” Hermione questioned.

“I’m afraid so.”

“What if we were able to gather people who remember what they had to do when Riddle attacked the school? A lot of our friends from school have children there now and I don’t imagine that they are going to be any safer than our kids are,” Ginny put forth. “Don’t you think that they won’t want to step forward to defend their kids?”

“Well,” Harry stated, “MacLaurie is not going to like this one bit but I think that I feel the need to take some emergency leave time. I have enough of it coming and he can find some other low ranking person to sift through the pictures and parchments that I have been.”

“William LacLaurie? _The_ William MacLaurie who has been tormenting my office with constant complaints about problems within the Department of the Aurors?” Hermione hissed. “The dolt has been giving me nothing but headaches since the day that they promoted him. He certainly has no idea about what he is doing. The man is very close to an investigation into his fitness to do the job that he is. I myself have been looking into some of the allegations that have been made about him, and there are a lot of them.”

“Harry, the man actually asked to have you sacked,” she continued. “He claims that you are not competent enough to be an Auror when there are enough complaints from those that he has arrested to put him out of the department and into a cell of his own at Azkaban. If I were you, I would not be too concerned about William MacLaurie, regardless of the outcome of this investigation into these attacks he is on his way out of the Department of the Aurors. He will be lucky to find a job straightening the bristles on brooms if the special investigator that has been assigned to look into his conduct has his way about things.”

“Of course I am not supposed to tell you any of this but, in the light of things, I think that you are more that deserving in having this information.”

Harry nodded as he thought about what the witch was saying. He had known MacLaurie for a very long time and had actually called the wizard a friend. The problem was that he had known Hermione a great deal longer and tended to believe whatever she told him, whether it was privileged material or not.

“While I am dealing with MacLaurie, you should all go to Hogwarts to help them prepare for whatever this is.”

Ginny looked at her husband strangely as she thought about what he was saying. As a group they had the protection of several wands, but if the responsible person caught up with him while he was separated from them he would be in very big trouble.

“Harry,” she asked, “with everything that is going on are you certain that being alone is such a good idea? Whoever this is seems to know you and could be preparing a trap for you like the ones that have already caught so many victims.”

The wizard nodded his understanding, but his mind was made up. It was time that he dealt with MacLaurie and the petty behavior that the wizard was demonstrating.

“I’ll be back once I am finished with what I need to do, until then we need to make certain that the children are safe.”

“We will make certain of that, Harry,” Ginny exclaimed, “and we will see how many former Hogwarts students are worried enough about all of this to join us.”

Harry vanished with a POP knowing that very soon he would be facing an enraged MacLaurie. The wizard would not take easily the news that his favorite target was going to vanish. The Aurors left behind would be facing a tyrant that had no bounds to his fury.

MacLaurie was pacing the floor of his office when Harry appeared in the corridor. A few Aurors glanced up to see who the unexpected arrival was and many nodded as Harry Potter appeared. He was not as friendless as MacLaurie would have liked for him to have been.

“Where is MacLaurie?” Harry asked an Auror who had just laid down a report that he had been reading.

“The last time that I saw him, he was in his office, probably cooking up more work for you.”

“I guess that he is going to have to shuffle it off onto someone else because I have things that need to be done and they are going to get done.”

“Harry,” the wizard began as worry entered his face, “you aren’t leaving the department are you?”

“If it comes to the need to I will. Something has come to my attention of a personal nature and I intend to see it.”

“MacLaurie isn’t going to like it, not one bit.”

“I don’t give a damn what he likes, especially when the safety of my children is at stake.”

“What’s all this, then?” a voice that Harry had prepared himself to hear queried. “Potter, I did not expect to see you before tomorrow. Did you give some thought to working overtime and proving what little worth you have?”

Harry turned to see MacLaurie standing two or three meters from him. The wizard stood erect as he tried to project an imperious stance.

“Did you hear what I asked you, Potter? Are you back to prove that you are capable of doing something or are you merely here to fritter away more valuable time?”

“MacLaurie,” Harry growled as a number of Aurors began to filter into the corridor to watch the confrontation. “If I thought for one moment that you were worth the trouble that it would cause me I would let you prove just how capable you were with your wand. You might even be more capable with it than you are with your mouth. As it is all that I see is a pitiful excuse for a wizard that somehow managed to become an Auror. We both know that you would not be a part of this department if I had not stepped in when they wanted to wash you out during your training. I doubt that they would have even had you cleaning the loo, which takes talent as well which is something that you lack.”

“How dare you?” MacLaurie snarled. “You’re finished with the Aurors, Potter, you’re finished and no amount of pleading on your part or reminding the department heads that you were the “Boy who Lived” is going to help. Get out, Potter, get out and do not return! My owl to the Ministry will go out immediately and then we shall see how the famous Harry Potter fares!”

“Good luck, MacLaurie,” Harry replied calmly, “I think that you are going to need all of the luck that you can find.”

Harry vanished with a POP and the only sound that remained was the clatter of the badge that he had dropped before apparating. MacLaurie looked down at the badge and smiled in his crooked way. He glanced up to see that the other officers in the corridor were also looking at the place where Harry Potter had stood and the badge that was the only trace of him that remained.

“Well, Potter is gone, so I need the rest of you to get back to work. Don’t make me repeat myself or you can follow Potter.”

Only _Confundus_ being cast upon him could have made his jaw drop more than when a large number of the wizards and witches reached up to pull their badges free of their robes before dropping them onto the floor and vanishing with a series of POPS.

When it ended MacLaurie stood alone in the center of the corridor while only the most junior Aurors still tended to their duties as they wondered what to do next. Another POP appeared in the corridor and MacLaurie turned to see Andrew McBride standing behind him with a rolled parchment in his hand.

“William MacLaurie, by order of the Minister of Magic and Hermione Granger-Weasley, you are relieved of your command and duties effective immediately.”

“You have no authority to relieve me, McBride. It takes a senior officer to do what you are believing that you can do. Not even that parchment can do what you desire.”

“Are you certain, MacLaurie? What if I told you that the Minister of Magic himself will soon be here to make certain that you have relinquished command of this investigation? Would you believe me then? You might also be interested in knowing that you face probable trial before the Wizengamot for your part in the attack which killed several Aurors under the command of Harry Potter. A vital piece of parchment concerning the “valuable” information has come to light, a parchment which bears your signature. You set Harry Potter and his team up that night, you were the Auror in charge of the intelligence that led that team into an ambush. You were the junior Auror that Potter trusted to deliver usable information that, if it had been done the way that it should have, would have led to a raid which likely would have ended very differently. I hope that you are prepared to spend the rest of your life in a cell in Azkaban because that is where I intend to see you rot.”

MacLaurie reached for his wand and just as quickly lost it as the spell was shouted by one of the junior officers that stood nearby.

_“Expelliarmus!"_

A POP behind him announced the arrival of Kingsley Shacklebolt and MacLaurie turned wearily to look up into the dark face of a wizard who had grown tired of his missteps.

“Mister MacLaurie, I have been hearing a great number of disturbing things about you and the reign of terror that you have been overseeing. But I am happy to say that I will not be hearing them anymore. William MacLaurie, as the Minister of Magic I am ordering my deputy Andrew McBride to take you into custody. I am further restoring Harry James Potter to the post that he so ably filled prior to the unfortunate events of the night in question.”

MacLaurie could only stand and watch as the Aurors who had vanished only minutes before reappeared to reclaim their badges until only one remained on the floor. Confusion filled the dark eyes of Shacklebolt as he looked around the corridor but saw no sign of the wizard that he was looking for.

“Where is Potter?”

Harry stood outside the shield that prevented apparation into Hogwarts. He was still standing there when his family arrived on the other side of the shield, courtesy of some assistance by a person who was a friend to all of them.

His eyes widened and a smile appeared on his face as Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stepped forward and he found that he could enter the grounds. The friends stepped forward to embrace each other and then stepped back to examine the changes in each that time had created.

“Mister Potter, it is wonderful to see you again on the grounds of Hogwarts.”

“It’s great to be back, Professor McGonagall. Have any of them told you what I fear is going to happen?”

“Yes, Harry, they have,” she responded as she dropped the formal manner of speech that she so often used. “I share your concern, now how can I help you?”

“We need time, Minerva, we need time and a strengthening of the shields around this school. If who I believe is involved is correct they will stop at nothing to get through these defenses and the assault will be terrible. No one, regardless of House or if they are staff or student, will be safe. This person has only one thing in mind and that thing is revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Yes, Minerva, revenge. Revenge for the rebellion that we students raised against their reign here, revenge for our questioning of her motives, revenge for our refusal to accept what she claimed was what the Ministry wanted us to learn. Yes, she wants revenge for a great number of things, but especially for our attack on her to reclaim Salazar Slytherin’s locket from around her neck.”

“Harry, you aren’t saying that we are facing…” Hermione asked with a trembling voice.

“Yeah, Hermione, I am. I think that we are facing none other than Delores Umbridge, but there’s more. I was charged with looking at the pictures of the victims of the attacks and there was something very familiar about the faces. Then I remembered my cousin Dudley when he was attacked and I used the Patronus to save him. He had the same look on his face that Sirius Black did when the Dementors delivered their kiss to him and was stopped by a Patronus.”

“Harry,” Minerva McGonagall asked with a quivering voice, “are you saying that you believe that Umbridge is behind these attacks and is using Dementors to carry them out?”

“I do. I think that one of the healers at St. Mungos stumbled upon this and had to be silenced. He was no member of the Wizengamot, but he ended up just like the other victims. His wife and their House-elf ended up in the same situation except they died.”

“Umbridge is in Azkaban, Harry, she was sent there after the battle here,” Ron countered.

“She was accidently released from custody through a clerical error and vanished immediately. The attacks prevented us from searching for her because we were too busy dealing with increasing numbers of afflicted witches and wizards. I’m afraid that once she realizes that we know who is responsible that the attacks will expand to include just about anyone, including Muggles,” he answered as he looked pointedly at Hermione.

“My parents,” she whispered. “I tricked her into going into the Forbidden Forest where Grawp grabbed her and then the centaurs took her. _(Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix J.K. Rowling_) She has to be angry with me and they would be easy targets.”

“I would suggest that you get them here to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall offered. “At least here they would be safe.”

“I will see to it immediately,” Hermione responded and she was about to apparate away when a hand on her arm stopped her. She turned to see Ginny looking at her with fierce eyes.

“I’m going with you, Hermione, we may have had our differences but we also have our common reasons to hate Umbridge. Will you forgive what I said to you and let me help?”

With tears flowing from her eyes, Hermione Granger-Weasley nodded and the witches embraced a moment before McGonagall opened the shield long enough for the pair to apparate. The witches vanished with a POP.

“There’s more to this,” Harry announced. “We might know who is responsible, but where is she and where are the Dementors? She is going to come after us sooner or later, the attack on James proved that. She will likely send them to the Burrow, Ron, are your parents up to dealing with an attack?”

“They will be once I get there, Harry.”

“Harry,” McGonagall interjected, “the children, including James, are safe here at Hogwarts. I believe that it would be wise for you to accompany Mister Weasley to his parent’s home. There is no bad thing in having an extra wand available.”

“Let’s go, Ron,” Harry exclaimed, “the sooner we get there the sooner we know that your parents are safe.”

Instantly the pair of wizards vanished leaving the children and McGonagall to look at where they had been standing. Minerva McGonagall turned and then she and the children vanished to reappear inside Hogwarts Castle. They would be safe here.

In a long forgotten room in an ancient abandoned keep that had been her family’s ancestral home Delores Umbridge stared angrily out through a window long devoid of any glass. Potter had figured it out and now would be ready to deal with her associates. His friends from school would be alerted and likely even now would be busy fortifying their defenses. They would be prepared for an assault on their closest friends and family, but what about those who were not so prepared?

MacLaurie had failed in keeping Potter in check. He had become too ambitious and now was out of reach, at least for the moment. That meant that other, less prepared targets would be better options for attack.

“Very soon, Harry Potter, the scars that my quill will be less painful than the new scars that I shall leave you with.”

She giggled lightly as what remained of her sanity crawled back into the dark hole that it often hid in to avoid conflict with her manic thoughts.

“Very soon we shall deal with another enemy, my friends, very soon we shall play our little game of hide and seek with them and I am quite certain that they shall fail just as badly as all before them. I am sure that Harry Potter and his closest friends will be prepared for us, but what about some of their less intimate friends and family members?”

“We have been dealing with the old, perhaps it is time that some younger witches and wizards join the ranks of our playmates. Yes, I believe that perhaps that is the way to get to them now. Prepare my friends, for soon we shall make the acquaintance of someone younger but just as important to Harry Potter.”


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attacks strike close to home for even more.

Molly Weasley looked up from the book that she had been reading as a POP sounded in the room that she occupied. Expecting her husband, Arthur, her eyes widened as she realized that not only her youngest son, but also Harry Potter stood in the chamber as well. Her eyes brightened and she smiled broadly at the company that she had not expected.

“Ron, Harry, how good of you to visit. I was about to set your wives on you to come and visit us, but then,” she continued after stopping briefly to consider the idea, “girls are much better at keeping in touch than boys are. I was expecting your father, Ronald, but he has yet to arrive home from the Ministry. He isn’t quite as swift as he used to be.”

“Mom, Harry and Ginny came to the house, they say that we and the kids are in danger, and you might be too.”

“Ron, don’t be silly, your father and I are perfectly safe here. All that you need to do to see that is to look at …”

Ron and Harry watched as the face of the elderly witch went from confidence to bewilderment and then to fear. They followed her gaze to see that every hand on the clock, save that of Fred, now rested on the same place.

**EXTREME PERIL**

“Ron, what does all of this mean?”

“Molly,” Harry began, “we have every reason to believe that Delores Umbridge is seeking revenge against those in the Wizengamot who sent her to Azkaban. These attacks have all been against witches and wizards who sat in judgement of her during her trial. A healer who was looking into the attacks also has been attacked and is in the same condition as all of the others. Now we’re afraid that the attacks are going to spread outward.”

Molly looked at him with fear as she started to grasp what he was saying.

“James was attacked and only just managed to escape,” Harry continued, “we think that she wanted him to escape, to lead her to his family. We have the children safely behind the barriers at Hogwarts, but are afraid that she might target our families. You and Arthur need to come with us to the castle where we can be certain of your safety.”

A POP announced another arrival and all turned to see Arthur Weasley standing in the room as he looked with confusion at the pair that had joined his wife.

“Ron? Harry? What is all of this?”

“Daddy,” Molly began, “Ron and Harry are worried about the state of affairs. These attacks, the ones that everyone is concerned about, may begin targeting other people. Every one of us is in danger,” she continued as she pointed at the clock.

Arthur looked at the clock and then back at his wife before speaking again.

“What does all of this mean?”

“Mister Weasley, do you remember our fifth year? The year that Delores Umbridge took over control of Hogwarts?”

Arthur looked at Harry for a moment before nodding.

“She was also at the Ministry determining people’s guilt or innocence according to their blood status. Ron, Hermione and I took back Slytherin’s locket from her, the one that Mundungus Fletcher stole from 12 Grimauld Place, the one that had belonged to Regulus Black.”

“But what has she to do with all of this?”

“I think that she is behind the attacks,” Harry announced. “I think that somehow she has harnessed Dementors and is using them to get her revenge against all who have stood against her in the past. Ron, Hermione and I beat her at Hogwarts when we got her into the Forbidden Forest and the centaurs captured her. Then I stupefied her at the Ministry and she was using a shield to keep Dementors at bay above her courtroom, once she was unconscious they were freed and chased us out of that level. It has to be her, it cannot be anyone else.”

“But are you certain?”

“When I saved my cousin from the Dementor attack and ended up on trial for it she was there as part of the court body. She was one of the most fervent that I be convicted and the most vocal about denying that Voldemort had returned.”

“It adds up,” the older wizard admitted, “but what does it have to do with us?”

“Dad, if she cannot reach Harry, Hermione, Ginny or myself, how would she go about hurting us the most?”

“By going after the ones that you love,” Molly concluded.

“Exactly,” Harry finished, “we need to get you to Hogwarts where you will be safe. The Burrow might have protective enchantments surrounding it but they will assault it until they fail. Once they are in they will destroy anyone that they find.”

Both older Weasleys nodded their agreement quietly and then, in unison with Harry and Ron, vanished with POPs. Behind them, the Burrow began to close itself up as fires and lights put themselves out, water stopped running and shutters slammed closed over windows that had shut themselves. The last thing to happen was for the lock on the door, something not often used, to throw itself and fasten the door tightly. The normally cozy and cheerful home went dark, cold and quiet as the happiness normally within it vanished with its inhabitants.

Outside the home, vines of all descriptions gathered around the house to weave a kind of web that cocooned the home and protected it from all trespassers.

No one remained to see a dark and noxious fog that swept toward the house silently. As it passed over the ground, plants froze and animals, as well as gnomes, did all that they could to give this ominous presence space. As it reached the house it stopped short as though it had struck an invisible wall, instead it climbed vertically until a dark roiling cloud surrounded the house while it searched for a way inside. Finally, after failing miserably to find a way to breach the defenses it began to retreat back downward and then slowly dissipated until no trace of it remained save frozen plants that would never recover from the experience.

A moment later the quartet arrived outside the barrier which protected the ancient castle, its staff and students and its grounds. Children raced forward to exchange hugs with Molly and Arthur while Harry looked around as he realized that Ginny and Hermione had not yet returned with Hermione’s Muggle parents.

“Minerva, have Ginny, Hermione and her parents arrived yet?”

“Not yet, and I am beginning to worry about them. Alone, Ginny and Hermione are a force to be reckoned with, but with Hermione’s parents to defend I am afraid that they will be at a disadvantage should they be attacked.”

“And that is exactly what Umbridge would want to do,” Harry answered before turning to his brother-in-law. “Let’s go, Ron.”

Minerva McGonagall, as well as the remainder of the group that surrounded her, watched as the pair of wizards vanished with twin POPs.

Ginny, stood quietly in the living room of Hermione’s parents as the Muggles gathered what they desired to take with them. Not much of what she was seeing in the house made much sense to the witch but she remained quiet. The fact that they were working together instead of being at each other’s throats was a step in the right direction.

“Hermione,” she called out, “we need to get moving. We never know when Umbridge and her “friends” might be here.”

“We’re coming,” Hermione answered as she watched her mother finish grabbing what she wanted to take with her.

Ginny turned as her ears caught a strange sound, as she turned she realized that the room was darkening, as well as getting colder, and watched as a potted plant began to freeze. Ice crystals formed on the leaves of the plant and the blossoms began to shimmer as a coat of ice formed on the petals.

Then a voice, one that she had not heard in years, spoke to her and she felt a chill run down her spine.

“Ginny Weasley-Potter, I am honored to meet the wife of one of the three students who caused me so much grief while I was at Hogwarts.”

Ginny tried to shout out a warning to the trio upstairs but found that her voice would not work.

“Ginny, are you prepared to play a little game with my associates and me? Your son, James, played the game, but he cheated and apparated away to go to you. Are you prepared to be a little more sporting than your offspring was?”

Abruptly Ginny became aware of four shadowy figures that had appeared in the room.

As they began to close around her she tugged her wand free of her robes. While her voice might not work, she knew that very likely her wand would.

She waved the wand violently towards a pair of the figures and watched as the room around the pair vanished in a huge flash and muted roar. The air was filled with flying debris that slashed and hammered at the unprepared intruders and, although it did not harm them, it was enough to make them withdraw away from this witch that had managed to create such a fuss.

Apparently this was not something that her antagonist had considered for, as the enormous bang of the unfettered energy reached upstairs Umbridge realized the Ginny was far from alone.

Hermione’s head snapped towards the door and her parents fell to the floor as if tied together at the sound of the minor explosion.

The witch was torn between two choices. She knew very well that her parents would be defenseless against a magical attack and that she really should not leave them. But, at the same time she could not leave Ginny to fend for herself. If Ginny fell to whoever was attacking them, she would be forced to withdraw and take her parents with her as best that she could. In all likelihood she knew that she would lose at least one of them.

“Ginny!” Hermione shrieked as she looked to where her parents were cowering and drew her wand. She was going to have to make a stand, the problem was where to do it.

Her question was answered by a pair of POPs as Harry and Ron apparated into the room. The look in her eyes told the wizards that they were in deep trouble and the absence of Ginny told Harry that his wife very likely needed his help. A second explosion told him exactly where she was and he vanished once again to reappear next to his wife.

“Well, if it is not Harry Potter, the boy who lies,” Umbridge croaked. “Come to save your dear little wife from me? Very well then, defend her!”

Immediately the figures advanced on them and wands sent more energy toward the intruders, but Harry’s went toward where Umbridge’s voice had come from. A startled shriek sounded as the entire of the fireplace collapsed toward the witch and with the break in her concentration Harry and Ginny found that they could speak.

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

Instantly a silvery white horse charged towards the figures and they scattered like leaves in a violent wind. The Patronus continued its attack while Harry’s attentions remained on his adversary.

Umbridge was in trouble and she knew it. With the Patronus scattering her accomplices and Harry pressing the attack that was keeping her from bolstering the assault on Ginny she faced the very real chance of landing once again in Auror custody, something that she refused to allow to happen.

The sudden appearance of Ron on the stairs told her that it was time to abandon the assault. Against one opponent she could hold her own, but against two she was hopelessly overwhelmed. Her problems increased when Hermione, after safely depositing her parents at Hogwarts, appeared in the living room to add her Patronus to the fray. Sleek and fast, the silver otter shot through the air to attack a figure that was doing its best to stay away from the horse.

With the addition of two more opponents Umbridge chose the only avenue that she had remaining, she apparated out of the house. Like their mistress the figures, battered by the assault of the pair of Patroni, vanished as well, a shattered window offering them a chance out of a situation that was beyond salvage.

Ginny lowered her wand as the temperature in the room rose and it became light enough to see clearly once again. She looked at Hermione, the sister-in-law who had come to her aid, and then smiled sheepishly before speaking.

“Thanks, Hermione, I would have been in real trouble if you hadn’t added your Patronus to mine. I know that this is a lot to ask, and I’ll understand if you say no, but could we be friends again? I am so sorry for the terrible things that I said to you and the accusations that I made. I should have known better than to say what I did. Will you forgive me?”

Hermione smiled and then nodded.

“I forgive you, and I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me too.”

The witches stepped forward and then hugged while their husbands watched.

“Once you girls get done with that, don’t you suppose that we should set this place right? Hermione’s parents are going to have a terrible time living here with the room in the shape that it is in,” Ron announced.

Four wands rose again and a moment later the room was reassembling itself. Hermione sighed with relief as the room completed itself so entirely that even a partially full cup of tea that her mother had left on the table was righted and its contents where they belonged.

“It was Umbridge wasn’t it, Harry?” Ginny asked.

“Yeah, it was her,” he responded grimly, “We need to find out how to stop her, but first we need to know how she is controlling the Dementors. We need to know how she is keeping them from coming after her. Once we can figure that out we can beat her.”

“But we also need to figure out who she will go after next,” Hermione added. “She could go after almost anyone, even if they weren’t part of what happened at Hogwarts. We know that she isn’t above going after those who cannot defend themselves, so we should assume that she may begin striking at Muggles. She cannot get to my parents, but that does not mean that she won’t go after other non-magical targets. Harry,” she continued, “do your aunt and uncle still live where they did?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, “they live there, but I have no clue where Dudley moved to when he got tired of them.”

“We need to be ready to defend them, because they almost certainly will be attacked. If nothing more, it is a way to get to you Harry.”

“I didn’t like them,” the wizard added, “they made my life hell, but that won’t stop me from being there when they need me.”

“Do you think that she will be expecting it?”

Harry looked into the eyes of his wife and then nodded.

“She knows enough about me that she will be ready for me to intervene. Umbridge knows that I won’t hesitate to defend someone who cannot defend themselves. Yeah, she’ll be expecting it.”

“Do you think that she will be expecting all four of us?” Ron asked.

“I can’t ask all of you to risk yourselves for Vernon and Petunia.”

“Why not, Harry, you’ve risked yourself for every one of us at one time or another and no doubt several times,” Hermione responded with a touch of anger.

Harry nodded, and then looked around the now restored room before looking at his friend.

“Did you really grow up here?”

“Yes, I did,” Hermione answered defensively. “Why?”

“I dunno, I guess I just think that the place is really small. But I don’t have much room to talk, I grew up living in a cupboard under the stairs at Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s.”

“But you had a bedroom, Harry,” Ron interjected, “remember, George, Fred and I rescued you that night with Dad’s Anglia (_J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_).”

Harry caught the slight wince of pain on the faces of his wife and his friend at the mention of their deceased brother. He had often thought of Fred many times since the fateful night of the battle at Hogwarts against Riddle’s followers, as well as the other forty-nine that had died as well in that fight, and had vowed to do all that he could to make certain that nothing like it ever happened again.

“Let’s go.”

The room sounded with several POPs as they vanished and the lights went off one by one until the place was dark. In the office which handled the post, a note appeared telling the clerks to hold the correspondence for the couple as they were traveling.

In her castle, Umbridge sat quietly as she stared angrily out through the glassless window. She had been foiled in the attack, the Dementors had not gotten to deliver their kiss and this would put them in a foul mood that was much worse than the norm. They could not be made to wait for much longer lest they become unmanageable. If that happened they might turn on the only source of what they sought that was close at hand.

“I cannot imagine that they would even think about doing that,” she said to herself. “After all, what do I have to be happy about? Forced to dwell like a barbarian in these conditions in this ancient wreck of a castle. Denied my due at the Ministry of Magic, forced to dwell all of those years at Azkaban, what do I truly have to be happy about?”

“My only time to worry about them will be after they have had their fun with Potter and his friends. Then I shall be almost giddy and will have to be certain to shield myself so they cannot get to me. It would not do at all for them to turn on me, no, it would not do at all. I might actually have to turn my wand on them and that would be a tragedy. They are such kind ladies and gentlemen when they are pleased.”

She giggled manically at this thought and then looked out through the window once again. Potter would expect her to strike at his aunt and uncle and would be there to defend the couple and that dolt of a son that they had. Perhaps she could rid herself of them there once and for all and then the Dementors and she would have eliminated four large threats to her plans.

Yes, the strike at the house on Privet Drive was going to occur and, with any luck, it would see the end of Harry Potter, his wife and their two friends.


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dursley home is attacked and an unlikely combatant enters the fray to strike a telling blow. Afterwards, after a spell is cast, things may go from bad to worse.

Vernon Dursley sat quietly in his arm chair while the show on the television did its best to amuse him. Unfortunately it was failing miserably.

Retirement from his job was a bore. He had once thought that it would be the brightest part of his life, but he had been wrong. Having made his way up the ladder at his former place of employment he had been graced with having several less senior people under him, which meant that he could command them and tell them what to do.

Much like he had once done to Harry Potter.

Well, never mind all of that nonsense, Potter had moved on and left their house in one piece thank you after they had been temporarily forced to run for their lives. Of course Potter and his freaky friends had possessed friends, and enemies, even more freaky than themselves. Being forced to take time from work, which was rather nice, he, Petunia and their son, had moved to a quaint, if not boring, cottage out in the countryside. The place had EVERYTHING, including mice, smelly livestock around them, a lack of places to go for entertainment (which included the fact that they could get nothing on the television) and them.

The wizards, or so they called themselves, had made certain that the family was safe and for this the Dursleys had been grateful. They had gotten through the situation in one piece and had come home to a house in good order. There, since Potter and the trouble that he had brought was gone, they had settled down to an ordinary life.

Of course, Dudley had grown and moved on and, the last that they had heard, was living in a flat in London with a few other lads of his ilk. The boy had done only passingly well at school and the thought of university had not appealed to him, so he was working a menial job and somehow liked it. The situation did not require much thought, only the ability to follow directions and do manual labor. No one would have thought that it would have been his cup of tea, but he had managed to hold onto this job longer than the ones before it.

A noise in the kitchen, the oven door closing, preceded a volume of smoke around the same time that Petunia emerged from the space coughing. A shrill noise followed this as his wife hurried to open windows to allow the battered reminders of a failed meal to escape. All that they needed to worry about now was whether their neighbors called the fire service to deal with a potential disaster at 4 Privet Drive.

“I simply do not understand what went wrong with dinner,” the skinny woman exclaimed. “I followed everything in the recipe to the letter! The only thing that I did differently was to raise the temperature so that it would cook faster.”

“Well, it almost certainly has to taste better than it did the last time that you prepared Pot Roast.”

Dursley shuddered at the thought of the last failed attempt at this particular meal. The oven had been a mess that required an almost professional cleaning and repairs. That was the part that irritated him the most, the cost of the lot. The meal had been inedible, they had been forced to go out to eat, the cleaning and repairs to the oven as well as the cost of getting the smell of the smoke out of the carpet, the furniture and the rest of the home.

Added to that was the humiliation of the neighbors calling for the fire service and the mess that they had left. The whole episode had not been cheap or easily forgotten.

Now, with retirement, he had no place to escape to each day and was forced to eat whatever Petunia concocted in the kitchen. This was the one place where he missed Potter intensely.

For all of the disparaging words towards the boy, he had been able to cook without incinerating the meals and did keep the kitchen in top condition, and all without an extra penny being spent. Even after he had been given Dudley’s second bedroom, the lad had been a welcome source of free labor around the house.

“Vernon, if the roast isn’t edible we are going to need to go out,” Petunia announced.

The portly man grunted non-committedly as he thought about what his wife had. Although he would not say it outright, he often wondered if she didn’t burn dinner on purpose at times in order to give them an excuse to dine out.

_‘It’s getting bloody damned expensive,’_ he thought while she continued talking. Certainly they could not go to one of the less expensive places to eat, Petunia had tastes that were not satisfied by those locals.

She might have said more on the subject, but Vernon was too busy thinking about how cold it had become in the room. It was almost as if it was mid-winter (which it wasn’t) and the windows and doors had been left wide open while the air conditioner had been turned on full blast. As strange as that seemed, the lights in their home also seemed to have dimmed and he could almost swear that he could see ice forming on the windows and glass front doors of their cupboard.

“What in the bloody hell?” he growled as his skin began to prickle with gooseflesh.

Petunia did not respond other than to suddenly huddle closer to him. She was frightened and did not know why as she looked around a familiar room with wide eyes. Vernon was about to say more when quiet in the room was broken by the POPs of apparation.

Harry stood in the center of the room that he was familiar with as he drew his wand. This might have gotten past the Dursleys but the appearance of Ron, Hermione and Ginny certainly did not. The wizard and pair of witches appeared alongside Harry as wands came out to the ready.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley may not have been able to see the Dementors that had invaded their home, but the quartet that had come to aid them could see the danger very well.

“Get out of my house!” Vernon roared as the shock vanished and he realized who was in the center of the room. Ignoring Harry, he rose from the sofa and moved towards Ron with the intent to deal with this unknown interloper.

_“Stupefy!”_

Petunia could only watch as her husband fell towards the floor and was about to start screaming when she joined him in unconsciousness.

“Get them out of here,” Harry commanded as he cast his next action.

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

The Dementors were springing out of the way of the stag, otter and terrier that leapt forward to deal with them while Ginny and the unconscious Dursleys vanished. The silver-white creations swept around the room while they dealt with the malevolent beings.

Umbridge was not happy as her associates were dealt with, she stood in the front yard of the home while the battle raged within. She could only stand where she was while the Dementors were being dealt a thrashing.

“You loathsome witch,” a voice screamed behind her, “get out of this neighborhood and I mean right now!”

Delores Umbridge was just turning to face this tormentor when an object flew towards her, striking her in the face as it exploded. The cloud of foul smelling gases enveloped her and she fell backwards as she attempted to escape this unexpected attack. She was almost free of the area when she tripped over a long green serpent that lay in the yard of her intended victims.

She fell onto her backside as she clawed for her wand and found that it was not within easy grasp. It lay, quite visible only meters away, in the neatly cut grass of the space and there, walking toward her with a broom extended threateningly was a rather strange looking older woman. Umbridge frantically clawed backwards on her posterior as this aggressor neared and then did the only thing that she could do to prevent being battered with the implement.

Delores Umbridge vanished with a POP.

Arabella Figg, dealer in cats and kneazles, stepped forward to claim the abandoned wand. A moment later the delicate wooden shaft was being snapped over a skinny knee.

With their leader gone, the Dementors were in a terrible spot. Their intended victims were now gone and with the reappearance of Ginny, they faced a quartet of opponents that had no intention of falling prey to them. Tumbling over and over again under the attack of the powerful magic the dark creatures finally managed to extricate themselves from the battle scene to fly swiftly to the lair that kept them safe.

Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione looked around the devastated room for a moment before a wave of wands brought the room back to normal. They were about to apparate when a noise alerted them to a presence and they turned to see the small, skinny figure that had entered the room.

“Mrs. Figg,” Harry exclaimed.

“Harry,” she answered, “saw her I did. Saw her and ran her off and made her leave this behind.”

Harry looked at the shattered wand and smiled. Even in this condition it would reveal much but still he was confused. How had this woman, who all knew was a squib, managed to defeat a witch as powerful as Umbridge?

“How did you get this, Mrs. Figg?”

“I may not be able to use magic, Harry, but a Dung Bomb that I had kept for years came in extremely useful against her. It might have smelled bad, but against the likes of her it was the scent of roses. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough, especially when I tried to clout her good with my broom.”

“She’ll be back for this, you know,” Harry announced grimly as he examined the wand halves.

“Oh, I know, the old bat will return and I will be ready.”

“It’s not her that I am afraid of Mrs. Figg. It’s the Dementors that she is using to commit all of these attacks. You’re a target now because of this and the fact that you were able to best her. I would really feel much better if you would come with us to Hogwarts. You’ll be safe there.”

“But my friends…” she started as she looked back towards her home.

“Will be just fine, I can assure you that they won’t be left behind. I will guarantee that you and they will be reunited at the castle. You might even find a customer or two while you are there.”

The old woman hesitated for a moment and then nodded silently. She knew what and who the group of younger people had gone up against as well as what her chances of survival would be should the angered witch and Dementors return for revenge.

Arabella Figg walked back to her house with Ginny, Ron and Hermione while Harry reentered his childhood home to secure it. Minutes later 4 Privet Drive was secure from both magical and Muggle intrusion and he vanished with a POP to reappear outside the castle amid a large assembly of cats and kneazles. Mrs. Figg smiled at him broadly as she and her animals were admitted into the castle grounds.

“Where are Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?” he asked a concerned Professor Minerva McGonagall.

“They’re here, Harry, and very unaware of what happed to them. Hermione has them believing that they are on a vacation in a fine hotel. Harry, what is a hotel?”

“It’s just a place where people stay on a trip.”

“We already have a visitor from the Ministry of Magic here. They have been filled in about what you are doing and we are expecting Minister Shacklebolt to arrive at any time. The castle defenses have been bolstered so there will be no chance of danger to the children.”

Harry nodded at the news as the remainder of his team arrived, along with a newcomer.

“Luna?”

“Harry Potter! You know that I would not let you face this danger without me,” the witch answered. “You can count on my patronus any time that you need me.”

“Thank you, Luna.”

The group walked into the castle as they began to make plans for what they knew was coming. Umbridge, stung by the pair of defeats and now the loss of her wand, would likely gather more than just four Dementors. She had commanded a near army of them at the Ministry of Magic while she presided over her “court”. There was no reason to believe that she would not do so again.

While they planned, Delores Umbridge paced within the room that she had in the ancient castle. She had lost the wand, she had actually lost the wand and to a squib of all things. Had she still had the wand in her hands the miserable excuse for a squib would have been reduced to smoldering bones in an instant. But she had dropped it while trying to escape the Dung Bomb attack and now it was gone.

_‘A Dung Bomb of all things,’_ she thought to herself as she wrinkled her nose. ‘_Certainly those clothes are now ruined,’_ she thought with remorse, _‘I shall just have to pay the squib a visit. She may not be in her home, but I can make certain that she has no home to return to!’_

Her pacing paused as she stopped in front of the window frame again. Obviously four associates were not enough and there were a great many more where they came from. Perhaps it was time to all of them meaningful and profitable employment again.

_‘I believe that it is time for Godric’s Hollow to enjoy a little bit of notoriety as the first wizarding settlement in many years to face a Dementor incursion. Certainly there will be many wands there and no doubt a few who can cast the Patronus charm, but there will also be those there who cannot and perhaps their plight will bring Harry Potter and his friends into the fight. Perhaps there I can finally eliminate him for good.’_

_‘We may also need to start visiting Muggle towns. A few strikes there will draw the Ministry forces, as well as Harry Potter and his group, out into the open where we can strike. Oh, I shall miss that wand, it was quite powerful, but at least I still have mine and it is more than up to the task at hand. I shall enjoy seeing Mister Potter under the Cruciatus before I allow my associates to have their way with him and then I shall carry HIS wand into battle.’_

Her manic giggle echoed through the remnants of the ancient room as she drew her own wand to cast the spell that would summon more to do her bidding. There was risk in this, Delores Umbridge knew this, but the possibilities of reward were intoxicating. The thought of Godric’s Hollow being reduced to empty building inhabited only by the wasted remains of its populace and the effect that this attack would have on the wizarding world was exquisite.

It would have a world that had turned its back on her reeling. One of the most famous settlements in their world shattered in one horrific attack and left in ruins would give the forces of the Ministry something to think about, especially if they lost the famous Boy Who Lived. Perhaps he would become one of the men who died, it would be a fitting end to the circle.

She looked up into the sky and then waved her wand as she cast a dark and ancient spell towards the horizon. There was no immediate response, she knew that there would not be, but very soon a darkness would approach from the lands that the Dementors had been banished to and then the wizarding world would pay. A second spell produced a new energy bubble over the room that she occupied. It would stop the attack of any errant Dementor as well as shield her from discovery by the Ministry.

Delores Umbridge settled down into her chair while she waited. It was all that she had to do now, wait for the inevitable return of those who had been cast out when Voldemort had been defeated. She would become the new Dark Lady, mistress over the remains of their world as well as that of the Muggles. Her word would seal the fate of any brought before her and the mass of souls to be taken in both worlds by the Dementor’s Kiss would sate the dark beings for a very long time.

Then she would be invincible. All that she needed to do was to learn where the Elder Wand was, once she had that no one would stop her.

It was almost certainly hidden in one of the important places in their world and it would take some time and no small amount of searching to locate. But the search would be paid off once it lay within her hands for her to use.

She looked again at the sky in the distance and could almost imagine what it would soon look like when the dark masses began to appear. The Muggles, of course, would see nothing but the inhabitants of the magical world would once again tremble at the sight. They would know that their end was at hand and the Muggles, well they would simply die, never knowing what it was that was devastating their world.

A smile crossed her lips as she closed her eyes to sleep, only here did she dare be happy and only when the shield was doing its job.

In a distant place that was inhabited by very few darkness stirred in response to the spell that Umbridge had cast. They had not been out of these caverns to where they had been banished for many years and their mood was foul.

They had been battered heavily during the battle at Hogwarts and, although none of them had been destroyed, had retreated as it became obvious that Tom Riddle and his forces were not going to prevail. There would be no place for them in this world and even the prison that they had once guarded no longer wanted them.

Long used to being feared and distrusted, the Dementors had fled to this place to avoid the wands that assailed them. There were no witches or wizards here casting the Patronus but there were also very few souls at risk. Victims were restricted to those individuals that dared to leave the beaten path and explore the places where the Dementors ruled. Only occasionally were their wasted and long dead remains located by other explorers, usually long after the Kiss had been delivered.

The Muggles that lived in the area would probably have been grateful that they could not see what was flying overhead. They were frightened of enough already and didn’t need something new to fear.

The fear was going to be left for someone else to suffer, at least for now.


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attacks spread to the birthplace of Harry.

Edward Manchester stepped out of his home to look up at what should be a fine morning. It was warm this time of year, something that the wizard was grateful for. While he could have produced something that would have eased the ache from the arthritis that had settled into the joints of his knees somehow this was much more suitable. Anyone could make themselves feel better with the wave of a wand but using the warmth of the sun somehow made everything feel better faster.

He settled down onto the bench outside his home while he watched the growing activity in Godric’s Hollow. Other people were beginning to venture outside their homes and this made the old wizard wary. Despite the large population of wizarding folk, a number of Muggle families also called the village home. What this meant was that those who knew how to use a wand had to be cautious around their neighbors. It would not do to have an owl arrive from the Ministry of Magic commanding an appearance before the wizarding court for performing unnecessary magic in the presence of Muggles. A stint in Azkaban was the normal punishment for doing something that could both not be explained and caused an uproar.

The Department of the Aurors took a dim view of having to Obliviate the memory of a Muggle who had seen something that they should not have.

Manchester watched as Muggle children began to issue forth from their homes to make their way to the village school. It took more than a small amount of magic to make the Muggle children forget that they had once had classmates that they no longer remembered. The wizarding children went to the school as long as they could before venturing to the schools of magic, the schools that their Muggle classmates knew nothing about.

The sun was rising high enough that he could begin to feel the warmth that he sought and he started to close his eyes to sun himself. It was then that he began to feel a bit worried. Something was off, and he opened his eyes to try to determine what was wrong.

Opening his eyes was both a good and a bad idea.

In the distance he could see a dark smudge on the horizon and he wondered what it was as he began to believe that something was horribly amiss. Many years before, when he had been a much younger wizard he had seen something vaguely like what he was seeing now. He had seen it only for a moment before his terribly alarmed mother ushered him into the shelter of their home.

To this day, so many decades later, his mother remembered that day with tears in her eyes as it had seen the death of his father. He remembered it clearly too, just as he remembered the one word that his mother had uttered in a whisper as she tucked him and his siblings into a safe place.

Dementors!

But surely whatever he was seeing could not be those loathsome creatures. They had not been seen in large numbers since the defeat of the dark forces of Voldemort at Hogwarts. The Patronus charms of a number of powerful witches and wizards had given them a thrashing that had apparently convinced them that absence from the wizarding world was the best idea possible.

As he watched the approaching dark mass and hoped that he was not seeing what he thought that he was, other magical folk were noticing it as well. Around them Muggles, who were unable to see the threat, craned their necks to try to determine just what was so intriguing on the horizon when they could not see anything themselves. To them the morning was dawning gloriously and there was nothing wrong with the world. It was merely some of the more eccentric members of the local populace proving that they were more than a bit strange.

A growing dread filled those who could see the approaching mass as the same thought came to them. If these were Dementors, the magical folk in the village would be the only defense available to the population of Godric’s Hollow. This meant that the already stretched thin number of wands would be taxed even further because certainly the school that many children, both magical and Muggle, attended would be a magnet for the foul beings. Already the shrill happy shrieks of children at play were ringing through the air.

Unless they were defended, these happy children would be a prime target for the things that were rapidly approaching.

“It cannot be,” Edward whispered to himself as he watched the ever growing dark cloud that threatened to block out the sun. Already the temperature in the air was beginning to drop and even the Muggles could sense that.

“Good heavens,” a Muggle woman exclaimed, “why on earth is it getting so cold?”

Those with wands began to prepare for what was coming as it became more obvious that they were facing exactly what they believed that they were. Certainly, they knew, lives were going to be lost and likely a great many of those would be among the Muggle population as they would not be able to see what they should be trying to avoid.

Farther away from the village a group of witches and wizards had already seen the danger and, remembering the battle at Hogwarts began to use their wands to erect a shield to block or at least slow the advance of the Dementors until help could arrive.

Far in the lead of the swarm that was swirling towards the now alarmed village, the first Dementors collided head on with the shield that even now was filling the space in front of them. There were several bright flashes and then the afflicted dark creatures would spiral out of control until they could regain their bearings.

A flash of intense bright white light erupted and engulfed some of them as the first Patronus met them. Fleeing the attack of the force that they could not overcome the Dementors circled around the shield as they sought a weakness, something that would allow them to get to the intoxicating sense of happiness that was emanating from the large building below them.

Around the village those with wands did all that they could to prepare for the coming onslaught while also knowing that there was no way that they could hope to conceal their nature from the Muggles that resided with them. Very soon the non-magical people of Godric’s Hollow were going to know that there were witches and wizards residing among them and the squads of Aurors that dealt with Obliviating Muggles who knew more than they should would be kept busy.

More and more of the dark creatures massed around the shield that even now thwarted their advance and it was an unfortunate man who had gone out into the woods that encountered them first.

Sensing an easy target the Dementors swooped down to attack the unsuspecting villager who had set out to find suitable firewood for his home. Never realizing just what sort of danger that he was in, Bernard Hodges died swiftly as a trio of the evil abominations pounced upon him. Swiftly they drained him of what they sought leaving only an empty shattered shell behind.

His only blessing was the fact that he had never seen what had ended his existence. The only thing that he had felt before the end was an overwhelming sense of sadness. His remains would be found the next morning.

Above the village the swarm was meeting with stiff resistance as they sought a way through the barrier which was only growing stronger with each passing moment. Enterprising witches and wizards were casting their own support to the shield from any concealed location that they could find. Even with the caution that they were using, not all of them escaped notice as Muggles began to notice neighbors pointing elongated sticks up at the sky and muttering words in sentences that made no sense at all.

“Have they all gone mental?” a man questioned as he watched the woman that he had lived next door to for years as she joined the strange spectacle.

As Edward fought on, he became painfully aware that the shield was weakening under the attack of the Dementors and a wand that already was casting painful attacks at the barrier. No one had seen the wielder of this unseen wand but it was apparent that whoever it was, they wanted the Dementors to succeed in their objective.

Suddenly the Dementors swooped downward and a terrible thought came to those who watched.

Had the Dementors found a way under the shield? Had the person who was helping them created a way for the abominations to get past the protection that surrounded the village?

Sensing that the danger to their children had increased a number of witches hurried toward the school to find those teachers who possessed wands already in a state of fear as several of the foul things circled in the air above the building, well inside the shield over the village. Somehow they had found their way to their objective. They knew that they could not hope to protect all of the children at the same time.

The children, the magical ones at least, huddled closely together as the gravity of the situation weighed on them. They knew what was at stake and the very real danger that they were in. Their Muggle schoolmates, however, were more than a bit confused by the sudden directives by their teachers and the behavior that the adults were exhibiting.

For some reason, many of the teachers had pulled long pointed sticks out of their desks and had directed their students to stay away from the windows. The students were irritated enough, having been forced to remain inside during playtime and to remain in close groups.

A sharp bang at one window left the glass cracked and the Muggle children in that room confused. Had a large bird that they had not seen collided with the barrier? Certainly they had all seen this happen before but where had the creature gone? They had not seen the cause of this disturbance and the magical children certainly wished that they could say the same.

What they had seen strike the barrier that protected the building frightened them intensely. It had hit the magical field with enough force that the glass behind it was affected. Of course, the Dementor had been deflected, but it had not been dissuaded. Instead of retreating as it would have before a Patronus, it merely rebounded to begin a slow circuit of the structure as it joined its fellows in seeking a way in to get at the prize within.

Here and there, the magical folk were preparing for the assault that they knew was coming. As much as they all wanted to abandon their homes to rush to the school, they knew that their Muggle neighbors would be easy prey once there were no wands to protect them. They would die horrible non-deaths as their souls were ripped from their bodies, actually becoming worse than dead. All that would remain of them would be pathetic, mindless shells that knew nothing of the world around them and had not a care about the state that they were in.

From her vantage point, Umbridge watched as the creatures that she controlled slid through the opening that she had produced in a weak portion of the shell. They could not all go through at the same time, but they were still making a significant intrusion into this “protected” area. No doubt once the witches and wizards within were able to they would begin to cast their Patronus charms and her forces would retreat before them, but there were only so many wands and those wands had a great amount of work to do before their wielders and the Muggles were safe. Sooner or later, the numbers of the Dementors would begin to diminish the numbers of effective wands.

Edward Manchester, ignoring years of keeping it safely hidden from his neighbors, drew his wand just as a trio of the abominations swooped towards a pair of elderly Muggle women who looked at him strangely as he did so. They shook their heads as he pointed the stick that he held at the sky above them and spoke strange words that made no sense to them.

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

Instantly the Dementors were swept aside as the great silver-white eagle that appeared before flapped its enormous wings and dove into them. Over and over they rolled in the sky as the powerful powerful magic pummeled them. Finally, once they had managed to get clear of the attack, the Dementors went elsewhere to seek easier prey. The women, who had seen none of the incident other that his drawing of the stick, shook their heads once again as they moved on towards their destination. What he had done only confirmed what they had thought of him for a number of years.

The man wielding the stick and shouting strange words at the sky was more than a little bit off.

Edward had turned his attention to another attack that was in progress and was dealing with that Dementor when a scream got his attention. He whirled to see one of the women on the ground, her companion standing over her looking down at her in horror, while a true horror hovered over the victim. He lifted his wand once again to sweep the charm towards this threat and was just watching the thing being hurled away from the old woman when dark movement to his left got his attention.

As quickly as he could turn to deal with this new threat, the Dementor was quicker. A severe shock of coldness ran though his chest as the thing struck him and he collapsed to the ground in response, losing the wand that might have saved him. Again and again the thing attacked him and then it hovered over him, its gaping mouth moving closer to his own and his eyes widened as it delivered its kiss.

Edward Manchester soon knew no more and his nerveless fingers made no attempt to regain the holly wand that they had gripped for so many years.

The old women, with no one to protect them, soon joined him in a vast and dark emptiness that would hold them for the rest of their days.

Frantic witches and wizards dealt with the attack on the village as best they could but all knew that they had no chance of preventing severe casualties. POPs would sound as Aurors appeared in response to reports to the Ministry that magic was being performed in the presence of Muggles. Instead of encountering people who had violated this law for other reasons, the Aurors found that the transgressions had a much more terrifying reason for occurring. A silent call for help was sent but all wondered if enough wands could be summoned to make any sort of a difference.

Umbridge was almost beside herself with manic glee. The Dementors had all gotten past the magical shield and now the way out was closed to them as well as the villagers. Certainly those with magical ability could escape via apparation, but that would leave the Muggles to fend for themselves against opponents that they could not see to fight or fear. Even if all of those who could apparated out of Godric’s Hollow there was going to be a massacre. Content that her plan was bearing fruit, Delores Umbridge settled down onto a chair that she had summoned to watch all of the fun that her associates were having.

The Muggles were becoming more alarmed than confused now. A number of people had simply collapsed and now lay as still as death with nothing able to rouse them. One might have assumed that the frightening nature of the situation might cause elderly or ill people to succumb to heart attacks or strokes but some of the fallen were hale and hearty men who had clean bills of health. Those people who carried sticks and were waving them while chanting something seemed to be doing better than those without and were actually trying to get people without the implements to get close in to them.

Many of the formerly skeptical now needed very little persuasion to do as they were urged to.

Witches and wizards at the school were facing an increasingly alarming battle. The magical children could see the danger and were nearly frantic with alarm. This had the effect of frightening the Muggles among them. Many times children that could see the Dementors would scream out in fear and this would set their more mundane companions on edge. Some of them began to cry out as well, even though they really did not know what to fear.

Several of the Aurors had apparated directly into the building and now were gathering all that they could into smaller areas so that they had more control of what was going on. Repeated crashes against the magical shield around the school punctuated the cries with their abrupt and unexpected sounds.

Thankfully, all within the school were safe for now but the same could not be said for those in the village who had not yet begun to hurry to the haven.

Several still bodies now lay in the streets and in some of the buildings where they had been caught by the dark beings. The Muggles never understood what had hit them or why they were collapsing to the floor only to lose consciousness forever a few moments later. They were far luckier than those that could see what was coming for them. Those that could had their conscious existence ended in a cloud of fear and sadness.

Around Godric’s Hollow the shield, now deprived of some of effort that had erected it, began to falter. It wavered and faded in some areas as holes began to threaten to form. None of this bothered Umbridge, it would provide her associates with a way out of the village once they had been sated. She stood and watched for a moment longer as the assault continued.

“Harry Potter, will this get your attention now? Will you come to help the worthless and pathetic residents of Godric’s Hollow or will you stay away and let them die without their hero coming to their aid?”

She watched for a moment longer and smiled as a building erupted into flames. The how and why of the destruction of the structure didn’t matter to her. Delores Umbridge merely hoped that it meant the end of more Muggles.

_‘I think that I shall leave now,’ _she mused, _‘my faithful seem to have things well under control and also seem to be enjoying themselves. Who am I to recall them and deny them their due? They would be terribly upset with me if I did that. No, I shall leave them to tarry as long as they desire to.’_

Delores Umbridge vanished with a POP to reappear in the ancient remains that she resided in. She settled down into her chair while she looked out through her window as she smiled.

The attack on Godric’s Hollow had been an overwhelming success. Her next target would be a little closer to Hogwarts.

_‘I shall see Hogsmeade burning. I shall have all within the castle seeing the smoke and flames rising against the sky and they will know that their turn shall be next. I shall see Harry Potter’s children as prey for my friends. They shall fall, just as their precious cousins and parents shall. I shall see Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a flaming wreck filled with the remains of those that my darlings have taken everything from. I shall see Harry Potter kneeling before me as he pleads for the lives of his family and friends.’_

Her eyes gleamed with madness at this thought.

_‘He shall beg me and I shall tell him that they will be spared, but this will be a lie. I shall order them to be delivered the kiss of the Dementor and he shall scream as he watches his children be taken. I will enjoy watching as all who opposed me follows them and Harry Potter shall be saved for last. I shall watch as he kneels before me while I order his execution and I shall laugh as they take all that he is from him.’_

_‘Then I shall deal with the Ministry of Magic and Muggle infested London. Once they have fallen, I shall sit in my throne in the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle and pass sentence on all brought before me. Then I shall do something that Lord Voldemort never came close to doing.’_

_‘With none to oppose me I shall rule the world!’_


End file.
